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CASEY  RYAN 


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Gooo  INDIAN 

LONESOME  LAND 

THB  UPHILL 

THB  GRINGOS 

THB  RANCH  AT  THB  WOLVERINE 

THB  FLYING  IPs  LAST  STAND 

JEAN  OF  THE  LAZY  A 

THE  PHANTOM  HERD 

THE  HERITAGE  OF  THE  Sioux 

STARR,  OF  THE  DESERT 

THE  LOOKOUT  MAN 

CABIN  FEVER 

SKYRIDEH 

THE  THUNDER  BIRD 

RIM  o'  THE  WORLD 

THE  QUIRT 

COW-COUNTRY 

CASEY  RYAN 


Casey  reached  for  his  pocket,  and  the  white  man  also 
reached  for  his.     FRONTISPIECE.     See  page  237. 


CASEY  RYAN 


BY 


{fi.  M.  BOWER, 

(Muz.,zLij) 


WITH    FRONTISPIECE  BY 
FRANK  TENNEY  JOHNSON 


NON^REFE 


BOSTON 

LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND  COMPANY 
1921 


Copyright,  1921, 
BY  LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND  COMPANY 


All  rights  reserved 
Published  August,  1921 


CASEY  RYAN 


CASEY  RYAN 


CHAPTER  I 

From  Denver  to  Spokane,  from  El  Paso  to  Fort 
Bent  on,  men  talk  of  Casey  Ryan  and  smile  when 
they  speak  his  name.  Old  men  with  the  flat  tone  of 
coming  senility  in  their  voices  will  suck  at  their  pipes 
and  cackle  reminiscently  while  they  tell  you  of 
Casey's  tumultuous  youth  —  when  he  drove  the  six 
fastest  horses  in  Colorado  on  the  stage  out  from 
Cripple  Creek,  and  whooped  past  would-be  holdups 
with  a  grin  of  derision  on  his  face  and  bullets  whin 
ing  after  him  and  passengers  praying  disjointed 
prayers  and  clinging  white-knuckled  to  the  seats. 

They  say  that  once  a  flat,  lanky  man  climbed 
bareheaded  out  at  the  stage  station  below  the  moun 
tain  and  met  Casey  coming  springily  off  the  box 
with  whip  and  six  reins  in  his  hand.  The  lanky 
man  was  still  pale  from  his  ride,  and  he  spluttered 
when  he  spoke: 

"  Sa-ay !  N-next  time  you're  held  up  and  I'm 
r-ridin'  with  yuh,  b-by  gosh,  you  s-stop.  I-I'd 
ruther  be  shot  t-than  p-pitched  off  into  a  c-canyon 
s-somewhere  a-and  busted  up !  " 

Casey  is  a  little  man.  When  he  was  young  he 
was  slim,  but  he  always  has  owned  a  pale  blue,  un- 


2  CASEY  RYAN 

winking  squint  which  he  uses  with  effect.  He 
halted  where  he  was  and  squinted  up  at  the  man, 
and  spat  fluid  tobacco  and  grinned. 

"  You're  here,  and  you're  able  to  kick  about  my 
drivin'.  That's  purty  good  luck,  I'd  say.  You 
ain't  shot,  an'  you  ain't  layin'  busted  in  no  canyon. 
Any  time  a  man  gits  shot  outa  Casey  Ryan's  stage, 
he'll  have  to  jump  out  an'  wait  for  the  bullet  to 
ketch  up.  And  there  ain't  any  passengers  offn'  this 
stage  layin'  busted  in  no  canyon,  neither.  I  bring 
in  what  I  start  out  with." 

The  other  man  snorted  and  reached  under  his 
coat  tail  for  the  solacing  plug  of  chewing  tobacco. 
Opposition  and  ridicule  had  brought  a  little  color 
into  his  face. 

"  Why,  hell,  man !  You  —  you  come  around 
that  ha-hairpin  turn  up  there  on  two  wheels!  It's 
a  miracle  we  wasn't  — " 

"  Miracles  is  what  happens  once  and  lets  it  go  at 
that.  Say!  Casey  Ryan  always  saves  wear  on  a 
coupla  wheels,  on  that  turn.  I've  made  it  on  one; 
but  the  leaders  wasn't  runnin'  right  to-day.  That 
nigh  one's  cast  a  shoe.  I  gotta  have  that  looked 
after."  He  gave  up  the  reins  to  the  waiting  hostler 
and  went  off,  heading  straight  for  the  station  porch 
where  waited  a  red-haired  girl  with  freckles  and  a 
warm  smile  for  Casey. 

That  was  Casey's  youth;  part  of  it.  The  rest 
was  made  up  of  fighting,  gambling,  drinking  hilari 
ously  with  the  crowd  and  always  with  his  temper 
on  hair  trigger.  Along  the  years  behind  him  he 
left  a  straggling  procession  of  men,  women  and 


CASEY  RYAN  3 

events.  The  men  and  women  would  always  know 
the  color  of  his  eyes  and  would  recognize  the  Casey 
laugh  in  a  crowd,  years  after  they  had  last  heard  it; 
the  events  were  full  of  the  true  Casey  flavor, —  and 
as  I  say,  when  men  told  of  them  and  mentioned 
Casey,  they  laughed. 

From  the  time  when  his  daily  drives  were  likely 
to  be  interrupted  by  holdups,  and  once  by  a  grizzly 
that  reared  up  in  the  road  fairly  under  the  nose  of 
his  leaders  and  sent  the  stage  off  at  an  acute  angle, 
blazing  a  trail  by  itself  amongst  the  timber,  Casey 
drifted  from  mountain  to  desert,  from  desert  to  plain 
and  back  again,  blithely  meeting  hard  luck  face  to 
face  and  giving  it  good  day  as  if  it  were  a  friend. 
For  Casey  was  born  an  optimist,  and  misfortune 
never  quite  got  him  down  and  kept  him  there, 
though  it  tried  hard  and  often,  as  you  will  presently 
see.  Some  called  him  gritty.  Some  said  he  hadn't- 
the  sense  to  know  when  he  was  licked.  Either  way, 
it  made  a  rare  little  Irishman  of  Casey  Ryan,  and 
kept  his  name  from  becoming  blurred  in  the  mem 
ories  of  those  who  once  knew  him. 

So  in  time  it  happened  that  Casey  was  driving  a 
stage  of  his  own  from  Pinnacle  down  to  Lund,  in 
Nevada,  and  making  boast  that  his  four  horses  could 
beat  the  record  —  the  month's  record,  mind  —  of 
any  dog-gone  auty-wo-bile  that  ever  infested  the 
trail.  Infest  is  a  word  that  Casey  would  have  used 
often  had  he  known  its  dictionary  reputation.  Hav 
ing  been  deprived  of  close  acquaintance  with  diction 
aries,  but  having  a  facile  imagination  and  some  cre 
ative  ability,  Casey  kept  pace  with  progress  and  in- 


4  CASEY  RYAN 

vented  words  of  his  own  which  he  applied  lavishly 
to  all  automobiles ;  but  particularly  and  emphatically 
he  applied  the  spiciest,  most  colorful  ones  to  Fords. 

Put  yourself  in  Casey's  place,  and  you  will  un 
derstand.  Imagine  yourself  with  a  thirty-mile  trip 
to  make  down  a  twisty,  rough  mountain  road  built 
in  the  days  when  men  hauled  ore  down  the  mountain 
on  wagons  built  to  bump  over  rocks  without  dam 
age  to  anything  but  human  bones.  You  are  Casey 
Ryan,  remember ;  you  never  stopped  for  stage  rob 
bers  or  grizzlies  in  the  past,  and  you  have  your 
record  to  maintain  as  the  hardest  driver  in  the  West. 
You  are  proud  of  that  record,  because  you  know  how 
you  have  driven  to  earn  it. 

You  pop  the  lash  over  the  ears  of  your  leaders 
and  go  whooping  down  a  long,  straight  bit  of  road 
where  you  count  on  making  time.  When  you  are 
about  halfway  down  and  the  four  horses  are  run 
ning  even  and  tugging  pleasantly  at  the  reins,  and 
you  are  happy  enough  to  sing  your  favorite  song, 
which  begins, 

"Hey,  ole  Bill!     Can-n  yuh  play  the  fiddle-o? 
Yes,  by  gosh!     I  —  I  —  kin  play  a  liddle-o — " 

and  never  gets  beyond  that  one  flat  statement, 
around  the  turn  below  you  comes  a  Ford,  rattling 
all  its  joints  trying  to  make  the  hill  on  "  high."  The 
driver  honks  wildly  at  you  to  give  him  the  road  — 
you,  Casey  Ryan !  Wouldn't  you  writhe  and  invent 
words  and  apply  them  viciously  to  all  Fords  and 
the  man  who  invented  them  ?  But  the  driver  comes 
at  you  honking,  squawking, —  and  you  turn  out. 


CASEY  RYAN  5 

You  have  to,  unless  the  Ford  does ;  and  Fords  don't. 
A  Ford  will  send  a  twin-six  swerving  sharply  to  the 
edge  of  a  ditch,  and  even  Casey  Ryan  must  swing 
his  leaders  to  the  right  in  obedience  to  that  raucous 
command. 

Once  Casey  didn't.  He  had  the  patience  of  the 
good-natured,  and  for  awhile  he  had  contented  him 
self  with  his  vocabulary  and  his  reputation  as  a 
driver  and  a  fighter,  and  the  record  he  held  of  mak 
ing  the  thirty  miles  from  Pinnacle  to  Lund  in  an 
hour  and  thirty-five  minutes,  twenty-six  days  in  the 
month.  (He  did  not  publish  his  running  expenses, 
by  the  way,  nor  did  he  mention  the  fact  that  his 
passengers  were  mostly  strangers  picked  up  at  the 
railway  station  at  Lund  because  they  liked  the  look 
of  the  picturesque  four-horses-and-Casey  stage 
coach.) 

Once  Casey  refused  to  turn  out.  That  morning 
he  had  been  compelled  to  wait  and  whip  a  heavy 
man  who  berated  Casey  because  the  heavy  man's 
wife  had  ridden  from  Pinnacle  to  Lund  the  day  be 
fore  and  had  fainted  at  the  last  sharp  turn  in  the 
road  and  had  not  revived  in  time  to  board  the  train 
for  Salt  Lake  which  she  had  been  anxious  to  catch. 
Casey  had  known  she  was  anxious  to  catch  the  train, 
and  he  had  made  the  trip  in  an  hour  and  twenty-nine 
minutes  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  he  had  driven  the 
last  mile  with  a  completely  unconscious  lady  leaning 
heavily  against  his  left  shoulder.  She  made  much 
better  time  with  Casey  than  she  would  have  made 
on  the  narrow-gauge  train  which  carried  ore  and 
passengers  and  mail  to  Lund,  arriving  when  most 


6  CASEY  RYAN 

convenient  to  the  train  crew.  That  it  took  half  an 
hour  to  restore  her  to  consciousness  was  not  Casey's 
fault. 

Casey  had  succeeded  in  whipping  the  heavy  man 
till  he  hollered,  but  the  effort  had  been  noticeable. 
Casey  wondered  uneasily  whether  by  any  chance  he, 
Casey  Ryan,  was  growing  old  with  the  rest  of  the 
world.  That  possibility  had  never  before  occurred 
to  him,  and  the  thought  was  disquieting.  Casey 
Ryan  too  old  to  lick  any  man  who  gave  him  cause, 
too  old  to  hold  the  fickle  esteem  of  those  who  met 
him  in  the  road?  Casey  squinted  belligerently  at 
the  Old-man-with-the-scythe  and  snorted.  "  I 
licked  him  good.  You  ask  anybody.  And  he's 
twice  as  big  as  I  am.  I  guess  they's  a  good  many 
years  left  in  Casey  Ryan  yet !  Giddap,  you  —  thus- 
and-so!  We're  ten  minutes  late  and  we  got  our 
record!" 

At  that  moment  a  Ford  touring  car  popped  around 
the  turn  below  him  and  squawked  presumptuously 
for  a  clear  passage  ahead.  Casey  pulled  his  lash 
off  the  nigh  leader,  yelled  and  charged  straight  down 
the  road.  Did  they  think  they  could  honk  him  off 
the  road?  Hunh!  Casey  Ryan  was  still  Casey 
Ryan.  Never  again  would  he  turn  out  for  man  or 
devil. 

Wherefore  Casey  was  presently  extricating  his 
leaders  from  the  harness  of  his  wheelers  ten  feet 
below  the  grade.  On  the  road  above  him  the  driver 
of  the  Ford  inspected  bent  parts  and  a  smashed  head 
light  and  cranked  and  cranked  ineffectively,  and 
swore  down  at  Casey  Ryan,  who  squinted  unblink- 


CASEY  RYAN  7 

ingly  up  under  his  hatbrim  at  the  man  he  likewise 
cussed. 

They  were  a  long  while  there  exchanging  disagree 
able  opinions  of  one  another,  and  Casey  was  even 
obliged  to  climb  the  steep  bank  and  whip  the  driver 
of  the  Ford  because  he  had  applied  a  word  to  Casey 
which  had  never  failed  as  automatic  prelude  to  a 
Casey  Ryan  combat.  Casey  was  frankly  winded 
when  he  finally  mounted  one  of  his  horses  and  led 
the  other  three,  and  so  proceeded  to  Lund  as  mad  as 
he  had  ever  been  in  his  life. 

"  That  there  settles  it  final,"  he  snorted,  when  the 
town  came  into  view  in  the  flat  below.  "  They've 
pushed  Casey  off'n  the  grade  for  the  first  time  and 
the  last  time.  What  pushin'  and  crowdin'  and 
squawkin'  is  done  from  now  on,  it'll  be  Casey  Ryan 
doin'  it!  Faint!  I'll  learn  'em  something  to  faint 
about.  If  it's  Fords  goin'  to  run  horses  off'n  the 
trail,  you  watch  how  Casey  Ryan'll  drive  the  livin' 
tar  outa  one.  Dog-gone  'em,  there  ain't  no  Ford 
livin'  that  can  drive  Casey  off'n  the  road.  I'll  drive 
'em  till  their  tongues  hang  out.  I'll  make  'em  bawl 
like  a  calf,  and  I'll  pound  'em  on  the  back  and 
make  'em  fan  it  faster." 

So  talking  to  himself  and  his  team  he  rode  into 
town  and  up  to  one  of  those  ubiquitous  Ford  agen 
cies  that  write  their  curly-tailed  blue  lettering  across 
the  continent  from  the  high  nose  of  Maine  to  the 
shoulder  of  Cape  Flattery. 

"  Gimme  one  of  them  dog-goned  blankety  bing- 
bing  Ford  auty-mo-biles,"  he  commanded  the  garage 
owner  who  came  to  meet  Casey  amiably  in  his  shirt 


8  CASEY  RYAN 

sleeves.  "  Here's  four  horses  I'll  trade  yuh,  with 
what's  left  of  the  harness.  And  up  at  the  third 
turn  you'll  find  a  good  wheel  off'n  the  stage."  He 
slid  down  from  the  sweaty  back  of  his  nigh  leader 
and  stood  slightly  bow-legged  and  very  determined 
before  the  garage  owner,  Bill  Masters. 

"  Wel-1  —  there  ain't  much  sale  for  horses,  Casey. 
I  ain't  got  any  place  to  keep  'em,  nor  any  feed.  I'll 
sell  yuh  a  Ford  on  time,  and  — " 

Casey  glanced  over  his  shoulder  to  make  sure  the 
horses  were  standing  quiet,  dropped  the  reins  and 
advanced  upon  Bill. 

"  You  trade"  he  stated  flatly. 

Bill  backed  a  little.  "  Oh,  all  right,  if  that's  the 
way  yuh  feel.  What  yuh  askin'  for  the  four  just 
as  they  stand?  " 

"  Me  ?  A  Ford  auty-wo-bile.  I  told  yuh  that, 
Bill.  And  I  want  you  to  put  on  the  biggest  horn 
that's  made;  one  that  can  be  heard  from  here  to 
Pinnacle  and  back  when  I  turn  'er  loose.  And  run 
the  damn  thing  out  here  right  away  and  show  me 
how  it  works,  and  how  often  you  gotta  wind  it  and 
when.  Lucky  I  didn't  bring  no  passengers  down 
—  I  was  runnin'  empty.  But  I  gotta  take  back  a 
load  of  Bohunks  to  the  Bluebird  this  afternoon,  and 
my  stage,  she's  a  total  wreck.  I'll  sign  papers  to 
night  if  you  got  any  to  sign." 


CHAPTER  II 

Thus  was  the  trade  effected  with  much  speed  and 
few  preliminaries,  because  Bill  knew  Casey  Ryan 
very  intimately  and  had  seen  him  in  action  when  his 
temper  was  up.  Bill  adjusted  an  extra  horn  which 
he  happened  to  have  in  stock.  One  of  those  terrific 
things  that  go  far  toward  making  the  life  of  a 
pedestrian  a  nerve-racking  succession  of  startles. 
Casey  tried  it  out  on  himself  before  he  would  ac 
cept  it.  He  walked  several  doors  down  the  street 
with  the  understanding  that  Bill  would  honk  at  him 
when  he  was  some  little  distance  away.  Bill  waited 
until  Casey's  attention  was  drawn  to  a  lady  with 
thick  ankles  who  was  crossing  the  street  in  a  hurry 
and  a  stiff  breeze.  Bill  came  down  on  the  metal 
plunger  of  the  horn  with  all  his  might,  and  Casey 
jumped  perceptibly  and  came  back  grinning. 

"  She'll  do.  What'll  put  a  crimp  in  Casey  Ryan's 
spine  is  good  enough  for  anybody.  Bring  her  out 
here  and  show  me  how  yuh  work  the  damn  thing. 
Guess  she'll  hold  six  Bohunks,  won't  she  —  with 
sideboards  on?  I'll  run  'er  around  a  coupla  times 
b'fore  I  start  out  —  and  that's  all  I  will  do." 

Naturally  the  garage  man  was  somewhat  per 
turbed  at  this  nonchalant  manner  of  getting  ac 
quainted  with  a  Ford.  He  knew  the  road  from 
Lund  to  Pinnacle.  He  had  driven  it  himself,  with 


io  CASEY  RYAN 

a  conscious  sigh  of  relief  when  he  had  safely  nego 
tiated  the  last  hair-pin  curve;  and  Bill  was  counted 
a  good  driver.  He  suggested  an  insurance  policy  to 
Casey,  not  half  so  jokingly  as  he  tried  to  sound. 

Casey  turned  and  gave  him  a  pale  blue,  unwink 
ing  stare.  "  Say !  Never  you  mind  gettin'  out  in 
surance  on  this  auty-mo-bile.  What  you  wanta  do 
is  insure  the  cars  that's  liable  to  meet  up  with  me  in 
the  trail." 

Bill  saw  the  sense  of  that,  too,  and  said  no  more 
about  insuring  Casey.  He  drove  down  the  canyon 
where  the  road  is  walled  in  on  both  sides  by  cliffs, 
and  proceeded  to  give  Casey  a  lesson  in  driving. 
Casey  did  not  think  that  he  needed  to  be  taught  how 
to  drive.  All  he  wanted  to  know,  he  said,  was  how 
to  stop  'er  and  how  to  start  'er.  Bill  needn't  worry 
about  the  rest  of  it. 

"  She's  darn  tender-bitted,"  he  commented,  after 
two  round  trips  over  the  straight  half-mile  stretch, 
—  and  fourteen  narrow  escapes.  "  And  the  man 
that  made  'er  sure  oughta  known  better  than  to 
make  'er  neck  rein  in  harness.  And  I  don't  like  this 
windin'  'er  up  every  time  you  wanta  start.  But  she 
can  sure  go  —  and  that's  what  Casey  Ryan's  after 
every  day  in  the  week. 

"  All  right,  Bill.  I'll  go  gather  up  the  Bohunks 
and  start.  You  better  'phone  up  to  Pinnacle  that 
Casey's  on  the  road  —  and  tell  'em  he  says  it's  his 
road's  long's  he's  on  it  They'll  know  what  I 
mean." 

Pinnacle  did  know,  and  waited  on  the  sidewalk 
that  afforded  a  view  of  the  long  hill  where  the  road 


CASEY  RYAN  n 

curled  down  around  the  head  of  the  gulch  and  into 
town.  Much  sooner  than  his  most  optimistic  back 
ers  had  a  right  to  expect  —  for  there  were  bets 
laid  on  the  outcome  there  in  Pinnacle  —  on  the  brow 
of  the  hill  a  swirl  of  red  dust  grew  rapidly  to  a 
cloud.  Like  a  desert  whirlwind  it  swept  down  the 
road,  crossed  the  narrow  bridge  over  the  deep  cut 
at  the  head  of  the  gulch  where  the  famous  Youbet 
mine  belched  black  smoke,  and  rolled  on  down  the 
steep,  narrow  little  street. 

Out  of  the  whirlwind  poked  the  pugnacious  little 
brass-rimmed  nose  of  a  new  Ford,  and  behind  the 
windshield  Casey  Ryan  grinned  widely  as  he  swung 
up  to  the  postoffice  and  stopped  as  he  had  always 
stopped  his  four-horse  stage, —  with  a  flourish. 
Stopping  with  a  flourish  is  fine  and  spectacular  when 
you  are  driving  horses  accustomed  to  that  method 
and  on  the  lookout  for  it.  Horses  have  a  way  of 
stiffening  their  forelegs  and  sliding  their  hind  feet 
and  giving  a  lot  of  dramatic  finish  to  the  perform 
ance.  But  there  is  no  dramatic  sense  at  all  in  the 
tin  brain  of  a  Ford.  It  just  stopped.  And  the 
insecure  fourth  Bohunk  in  the  tonneau  went  hurtling 
forward  into  the  front  seat  straight  on  his  way 
through  the  windshield.  Casey  threw  up  an  elbow 
instinctively  and  caught  him  in  the  collar  button  and 
so  avoided  breakage  and  blood  spattered  around. 
Three  other  foreigners  were  scrambling  to  get  out 
[when  Casey  stopped  them  with  a  yell  that  froze  them 
quiet  where  they  were. 

"  Hey !  You  stay  right  where  y'are !  I  gotta 
deliver  yuh  up  to  the  Bluebird  in  a  minute." 


12  CASEY  RYAN 

There  were  chatterings  and  gesticulations  in  th£ 
tonneau.  Out  of  the  gabble  a  shrill  voice  rose  be 
seechingly  in  English.  "  We  will  walk,  meester ! 
If  you  pleese,  meester!  We  are  'fraid  for  ride  wit* 
dees  may  chine,  meester !  " 

Casey  was  nettled  by  the  cackling  and  the  thigh- 
slapping  of  the  audience  on  the  sidewalk.  He 
reached  for  his  stage  whip,  and  missing  it  used  his 
ready  Irish  fists.  So  the  Bohunks  crawled  unhap 
pily  back  into  the  car  and  subsided  shivering  and 
with  tears  in  their  eyes. 

"  Dammit,  when  I  take  on  passengers  to  ride, 
they're  goin'  to  ride  till  they  git  there.  You  shut  up, 
back  there !  " 

A  friend  of  Casey's  stepped  forward  and  cranked 
the  machine,  and  Casey  pulled  down  the  gas  lever 
until  the  motor  howled,  turned  in  the  shortest  possi 
ble  radius  and  went  lunging  up  the  crooked  steep 
trail  to  the  Bluebird  mine  on  top  of  the  hill,  his 
engine  racing  and  screaming  in  low. 

Thereafter  Pinnacle  and  Lund  had  a  new  stand 
ard  by  which  to  measure  the  courage  of  a  man. 
Had  he  made  the  trip  with  Casey  Ryan  and  his  new 
Ford?  He  had"?  By  golly,  he  sure  had  nerve. 
One  man  passed  the  peak  for  sheer  bravery  and  rode 
twice  with  Casey,  but  certain  others  were  inclined 
to  disparage  the  feat,  on  the  ground  that  on  the 
second  trip  he  was  drunk. 

Casey  did  not  like  that.  He  admitted  that  he 
was  a  hard  driver ;  he  had  always  been  proud  be 
cause  men  called  him  the  hardest  driver  in  the  West. 
But  he  argued  that  he  was  also  a  safe  driver,  and 


CASEY  RYAN  13 

that  they  had  no  business  to  make  such  a  fuss  over 
riding  with  him.  Didn't  he  ride  after  his  own  driv 
ing  every  day  of  his  life?  Had  he  ever  got  killed? 
Had  he  ever  killed  anybody  else?  Well!  What 
were  they  all  yawping  about,  then?  Pinnacle  and 
Lund  made  him  tired. 

"If  you  fellers  think  I  can't  bounce  that  there 
tin  can  down  the  road  fast  as  any  man  in  the  coun 
try,  why  don't  yuh  pass  me  on  the  road?  You're 
welcome.  Just  try  it." 

No  one  cared  to  try,  however.  Meeting  him  was 
sufficiently  hazardous.  There  were  those  who 
secretly  timed  their  traveling  so  that  they  would  not 
see  Casey  Ryan  at  all,  and  I  don't  think  you  can 
really  call  them  cowards,  either.  A  good  many 
had  families,  you  know. 

Casey  had  an  accident  now  and  then ;  and  his  tire 
expense  was  such  as  to  keep  him  up  nights  playing 
poker  for  money  to  support  his  Ford.  You  simply 
can't  whirl  into  town  at  a  thirty-mile  gait  —  I  am 
speaking  now  of  Pinnacle,  whose  street  was  a 
gravelly  creek  bed  quite  dry  and  ridgy  between 
rains  —  and  stop  in  twice  the  car's  length  without 
scouring  more  rubber  off  your  tires  than  a  capacity 
load  of  passengers  will  pay  for.  Besides,  you  run 
short  of  passengers  if  you  persist  in  doing  it.  Even 
the  strangers  who  came  in  on  the  Salt  Lake  line  were 
quite  likely  to  look  once  at  the  cute  little  narrow- 
gauge  train  with  its  cunning  little  day  coach  hitched 
behind  a  string  of  ore  cars,  glance  at  Casey's  Ford 
stage  with  indifference  and  climb  into  the  cunning 
day  coach  for  the  trip  to  Pinnacle.  The  psychology 


14  CASEY  RYAN 

of  it  passed  quite  over  Casey's  head,  but  his  pocket 
felt  the  change. 

In  two  weeks  —  perhaps  it  was  less,  though  I 
want  to  be  perfectly  just  —  Casey  was  back,  afoot 
and  standing  bow-legged  in  the  doorway  of  Bill 
Master's  garage  at  Lund. 

"  Gimme  another  one  of  them  Ford  auty-wo- 
biles,"  he  requested,  grinning  a  little.  "  I  guess 
mebby  I  oughta  take  two  or  three  —  but  I'm  a  little 
short  right  now,  Bill.  I  ain't  been  gitting  any  good 
luck  at  poker,  lately." 

Bill  asked  a  question  or  two  while  he  led  Casey 
to  the  latest  model  of  Fords,  just  in  from  the  fac 
tory. 

Casey  took  a  chew  of  tobacco  and  explained. 
"  Well,  I  had  a  bet  up,  y'see.  That  red-headed  bar 
tender  in  Pinnacle  bet  me  a  hundred  dollars  I 
couldn't  beat  my  own  record  ten  minutes  on  the  trip 
down.  I  knowed  I  could,  so  I  took  him  up  on  it. 
A  man  would  be  a  fool  if  he  didn't  grab  any  easy 
money  like  that.  And  so  I  pounded  'er  on  the  tail, 
coming  down.  And  I  had  eight  minutes  peeled  off 
my  best  time,  and  then  Jim  Black  he  had  to  go  git  in 
the  road  on  that  last  turn  up  there.  We  rammed 
our  noses  together  and  I  pushed  him  on  ahead  of 
me  for  fifty  rods,  Bill  —  and  him  yelling  at  me  to 
quit  —  but  something  busted  in  the  insides  of  my 
car,  I  guess.  She  give  a  grunt  and  quit.  All  right, 
I'll  take  this  one.  Grease  her  up,  Bill.  I'll  eat  a 
bite  before  I  take  her  up." 

You've  no  doubt  suspected  before  now  that  not 
even  poker,  played  industriously  o'  nights,  could 


CASEY  RYAN  15 

keep  Casey's  head  above  the  financial  waters  that 
threatened  to  drown  him  and  his  Ford  and  his  repu 
tation.  Casey  did  not  mind  repair  bills,  so  long  as 
he  achieved  the  speed  he  wanted.  But  he  did  mind 
not  being  able  to  pay  the  repair  bills  when  they  were 
presented  to  him.  Whatever  else  were  his  faults, 
Casey  Ryan  had  always  gone  cheerfully  into  his 
pocket  and  paid  what  he  owed.  Now  he  was 
haunted  by  a  growing  fear  that  an  unlucky  game  or 
two  would  send  him  under,  and  that  he  might  not 
come  up  again. 

He  began  to  think  seriously  of  selling  his  car  and 
going  back  to  horses  which,  in  spite  of  the  high  cost 
of  feeding  them,  had  paid  their  way  and  his,  and 
left  him  a  pleasant  jingle  in  his  pockets.  But  then 
he  bumped  hard  into  one  of  those  queer  little  psy 
chological  facts  which  men  never  take  into  account 
until  it  is  too  late.  Casey  Ryan,  who  had  driven 
horses  since  he  could  stand  on  his  toes  and  fling 
harness  on  their  backs,  could  not  go  back  to  driving 
horses.  The  speed  fiend  of  progress  had  him  by 
the  neck.  Horses  were  too  slow  for  Casey.  More 
over,  when  he  began  to  think  about  it,  he  knew  that 
the  thirty-mile  stretch  between  Pinnacle  and  Lund 
had  become  too  tame  for  him,  too  monotonous.  He 
knew  in  the  dark  every  twist  in  the  road,  every  sharp 
turn,  and  he  could  tell  you  offhand  what  every 
sharp  turn  had  cost  him  in  the  past  month,  either  in 
repairs  to  his  own  car  or  to  the  car  that  had  un 
luckily  met  him  without  warning.  For  Casey,  I 
must  tell  you,  habitually  forgot  all  about  that  ear- 
splitting  klaxon  at  his  left  elbow.  He  was  always 


i6  CASEY  RYAN 

in  too  much  of  a  hurry  to  blow  it;  and  anyway,  by 
the  time  he  reached  a  turn,  he  was  around  it;  there 
either  was  no  car  in  the  road  or  Casey  had  scraped 
paint  off  it  or  worse  and  gone  on.  So  why  honk? 

Far  distances  called  Casey.  In  one  day,  he  medi 
tated,  he  could  cover  more  desert  with  his  Ford  than 
horses  could  travel  in  a  week.  An  old,  half-buried 
passion  stirred,  lifted  its  head  and  smiled  at  him 
seductively, —  a  dream  he  had  dreamed  of  finding 
some  of  that  wealth  which  Nature  holds  so  miser- 
like  in  her  hills.  A  gold  mine,  or  perhaps  silver  or 
copper, —  what  matter  which  mineral  he  found,  so 
long  as  it  spelled  wealth  for  him?  Then  he  would 
buy  a  bigger  car  and  a  faster  car,  and  he  would  bore 
farther  and  farther  into  yonder.  In  his  past  were 
tucked  away  months  on  end  of  tramping  across 
deserts  and  up  mountain  defiles  with  a  packed  burro 
nipping  patiently  along  in  front  of  him  and  this 
same,  seductive  dream  beckoning  him  over  the  next 
horizon.  Burros  had  been  slow.  While  he  hurtled 
down  the  road  from  Pinnacle  to  Lund,  Casey  pic 
tured  himself  plodding  through  sand  and  sage  and 
over  malapai  and  up  dry  canyons,  hazing  a  burro 
before  him. 

"  No,  sir,  the  time  for  that  is  gone  by.  I  could 
do  in  a  week  now  what  it  took  me  a  month  to  do 
then.  I  could  get  into  country  a  man'd  hate  to 
tackle  afoot,  not  knowing  the  water  holes.  I'll  git 
me  a  radiator  that  don't  boil  like  a  teakettle  over  a 
pitch  fire,  and  load  up  with  water  and  grub  and  gas, 
and  I'll  find  the  Injun  Jim  mine,  mebby.  Or  some 
other  darn  mine  that'll  put  me  in  the  clear  the  rest 


CASEY  RYAN  17 

of  my  life.  Couldn't  before,  because  I  had  to  travel 
too  slow.  But  shucks!  A  Ford  can  go  anywhere 
a  mountain  goat  can  go.  You  ask  anybody." 

So  Casey  sold  his  stage  line  and  the  hypothetical 
good  will  that  went  with  it,  and  Pinnacle  and  Lund 
breathed  long  and  deep  and  planned  trips  they  had 
refrained  from  taking  heretofore,  and  wished  Casey 
luck  Bill  Masters  laid  a  friendly  hand  on  his  shoul 
der  and  made  a  suggestion  so  wise  that  not  even 
Casey  could  shut  his  mind  against  it. 

"  You're  starting  out  where  there  won't  be  no  Bill 
handy  to  fix  what  you  bust,"  he  pointed  out.  "  You 
wait  over  a  day  or  two,  Casey,  and  let  me  show  yuh 
a  few  things  about  that  car.  If  you  bust  down  on 
the  desert  you'll  want  to  know  what's  wrong,  and 
how  to  fix  it.  It's  easy,  but  you  got  to  know  where 
to  look  for  the  trouble." 

"Me?  Say,  Bill,  I  never  had  to  go  lookin'  for 
trouble,"  Casey  grinned.  "  What  do  I  need  to  learn 
how  for?" 

Nevertheless  he  remained  all  of  that  day  with 
Bill  and  crammed  on  mechanics.  He  was  amazed 
to  discover  how  many  and  how  different  were  the 
ailments  that  might  afflict  a  Ford.  That  he  had 
boldly  —  albeit  unconsciously  —  driven  a  thing  filled 
with  timers,  high-tension  plugs  that  may  become 
fouled  and  fail  to  "  spark,"  carburetors  that  could 
get  out  of  adjustment  (whatever  that  was)  spark 
plugs  that  burned  out  and  had  to  be  replaced,  a 
transmission  that  absolutely  must  have  grease  or 
something  happened,  bearings  that  were  prone  to 
burn  out  if  they  went  dry  of  oil,  and  a  multitude  of 


i8  CASEY  RYAN 

other  mishaps  that  could  happen  and  did  happen  if 
one  did  not  watch  out,  would  have  filled  Casey  with 
foreboding  if  that  were  possible.  Being  an  opti 
mist  to  the  middle  of  his  bones,  he  merely  felt  a 
growing  pride  in  himself.  He  had  actually  driven 
all  this  aggregation  of  potential  internal  grief! 
Whenever  anything  had  happened  to  his  Ford  auty- 
mo-bile  between  Pinnacle  and  Lund,  Casey  never 
failed  to  trace  the  direct  cause,  which  had  always 
been  external  rather  than  internal,  save  that  time 
when  he  had  walked  in  and  bought  a  new  car  with 
out  probing  into  the  vitals  of  the  other. 

"  I'd  ruther  have  a  horse  down  with  glanders," 
he  sighed,  when  Bill  finally  washed  the  grease  off 
his  hands  and  forearms  and  rolled  down  his  sleeves. 
"  But  Casey  Ryan's  game  to  try  anything  once,  and 
most  things  the  second  and  third  time.  You  ask 
anybody.  Gimme  all  the  hootin'-annies  that's  liable 
to  wear  out,  Bill,  and  a  load  uh  tires  and  patches, 
and  Casey'll  come  back  and  hand  yuh  a  diamond 
big  as  your  fist,  some  day.  Ole  Lady  Trouble's  al 
ways  try  in'  to  take  a  fall  outa  me,  but  she's  never 
got  me  down  so't  I  had  to  holler  'nough.  You  ask 
anybody.  Casey  Ryan's  goin'  out  to  see  what  he 
can  see.  If  he  meets  up  with  Miss  Fortune,  he'll 
tame  her,  Bill.  And  this  little  Ford  auty-wp-bile  is 
goin'  to  eat  outa  my  hand.  I  don't  give  a  cuss  if 
she  does  git  sore  and  ram  her  spark  plugs  into  her 
carburetor  now  and  agin.  She'll  know  who's  boss, 
Bill.  I  learnt  it  to  the  burros,  and  what  you  can 
learn  a  burro  you  can  learn  a  Foid,  take  time 
enough." 


CASEY  RYAN  19 

Taking  that  point  of  view  and  keeping  it,  Casey 
managed  very  well.  Whenever  anything  went 
wrong  that  his  vocabulary  and  a  monkey  wrench 
could  not  mend,  Casey  sat  down  on  the  shadiest 
running  board  and  conned  the  Instruction  Book 
which  Bill  handed  him  at  the  last  minute.  Other 
times  he  treated  the  Ford  exactly  as  he  would  treat  a 
burro,  with  satisfactory  results. 


CHAPTER  III 

Away  out  on  the  high  mesas  that  are  much  like 
the  desert  below,  except  that  the  nights  are  cool  and 
the  wind  is  not  fanned  out  of  a  furnace,  Casey 
fought  sand  and  brush  and  rocks  and  found  a  trail 
now  and  then  which  he  followed  thankfully,  and  so 
came  at  last  to  a  short  range  of  mountains  whose 
name  matched  well  their  inhospitable  stare.  The 
Starvation  Mountains  had  always  been  reputed  rich 
in  mineral  and  malevolent  in  their  attitude  toward 
man  and  beast.  Even  the  Joshua  trees  stood  afar 
off  and  lifted  grotesque  arms  defensively  against 
•them.  But  Casey  was  not  easily  daunted,  and  eerie 
places  held  for  him  no  meaning  save  the  purely 
material  one.  If  he  could  find  water  and  the  rich 
vein  of  ore  some  one  had  told  him  was  there,  then 
Casey  would  be  happy  in  spite  of  snakes,  tarantulas 
and  sinister  stories  of  the  place. 

Water  he  found,  not  too  far  up  a  gulch.  So  he 
pitched  his  tent  within  carrying  distance  from  the 
spring,  thanked  the  god  of  mechanics  that  an  auto 
mobile  neither  eats  nor  drinks  when  it  does  not  work, 
and  set  out  to  find  his  fortune. 

Casey  knew  there  was  a  mining  camp  on  the  high 
slope  of  Barren  Butte.  He  knew  the  name  of  the 
camp,  which  was  Lucky  Lode,  and  he  knew  the  fore 
man  there  —  knew  him  from  long  ago  in  the  days 


CASEY  RYAN  21 

when  Casey  was  what  he  himself  confessed  to  be 
wild.  In  reaching  Starvation  Mountains,  Casey 
had  driven  for  fifteen  miles  within  plain  sight  of 
Lucky  Lode.  But  gas  is  precious  when  you  are  a 
hundred  miles  from  a  garage,  and  since  business  did 
not  take  him  there  Casey  did  not  drive  up  the  five- 
mile  hill  to  the  Lucky  Lode  just  to  shake  hands  with 
the  foreman  and  swap  a  yarn  or  two.  Instead,  he 
headed  down  on  to  the  bleached,  bleak  oval  of  Fur 
nace  Lake  and  forged  across  it  as  straight  as  h§ 
could  drive  toward  Starvation  Mountains. 

But  the  next  time  Casey  made  the  trip  —  needing 
supplies,  powder,  fuse,  caps  and  so  on  —  Fate  took 
him  by  the  ear  and  led  him  to  a  lady.  This  is  how 
Fate  did  it, —  and  I  will  say  it  was  an  original  idea : 

Casey  had  a  gallon  syrup  can  in  the  car  which  he 
used  for  extra  oil  for  the  engine.  Having  an  appe 
tite  for  sour-dough  biscuits  and  syrup,  he  had  also 
a  gallon  can  of  syrup  in  the  car.  It  was  a  terrifi 
cally  hot  day,  and  the  wind  that  blew  full  against 
Casey's  left  cheek  as  he  drove  burned  even  his  leather 
skin  where  it  struck.  Casey  was  afraid  he  was 
running  short  of  water,  and  a  Ford's  comfort  comes 
first, —  as  every  man  knows;  so  that  Casey  was 
parched  pretty  thoroughly,  inside  and  out.  Within 
a  mile  of  Furnace  Lake  he  stopped,  took  an  unsatis 
fying  sip  from  his  big  canteen  and  emptied  the  rest 
of  the  water  into  the  radiator.  Then  he  replenished 
the  oil  in  the  motor  generously,  cranked  and  went 
bumping  along  down  the  trail  worn  rough  with  the 
trucks  from  Lucky  Lode. 

For  a  little  way  he  jounced  along  the  trail;  then 


S2  CASEY  RYAN 

the  motor  began  to  labor ;  and  although  Casey  pulled 
the  gas  lever  down  as  far  as  it  would  go,  the  car 
slowed  and  stopped  dead  in  the  road.  After  an 
hour  of  fruitless  monkey-wrenching  and  swearing1 
and  sweating,  Casey  began  to  suspect  something. 
He  examined  both  cans,  "  hefted  "  them,  smelt  and 
even  tasted  the  one  half -empty,  and  decided  that 
Ford  auty-mo-biles  do  not  require  two  quarts  of 
syrup  at  one  dose.  He  thought  that  a  little  syrup 
ought  not  to  make  much  difference,  but  half  a  gallon 
was  probably  too  much. 

He  put  in  more  oil  on  top  of  the  syrup,  but  he 
could  not  even  move  the  crank,  much  less  "  turn  'er 
over."  So  long  as  a  man  can  wind  the  crank  of  a 
Ford  he  seems  able  to  keep  alive  his  hopes.  Casey 
could  not  crank,  wherefore  he  knew  himself  beaten 
even  while  he  heaved  and  lifted  and  swore,  and 
strained  every  muscle  in  his  back  lifting  again.  He 
got  so  desperately  wrathful  that  he  lifted  the  car 
perceptibly  off  its  right  front  wheel  with  every  heave, 
but  he  felt  as  if  he  were  trying  to  lift  a  boulder. 

It  was  past  supper  time  at  Lucky  Lode  when 
Casey  arrived,  staggering  a  little  with  exhaustion, 
both  mental  and  physical.  His  eyes  were  bloodshot 
with  the  hot  wind,  his  face  was  purple  from  the 
same  wind,  his  lips  were  dry  and  rough.  I  cannot 
blame  the  men  at  Lucky  Lode  for  a  sudden  thirst 
when  they  saw  him  coming,  and  a  hope  that  he  still 
had  a  little  left.  And  when  he  told  them  that  he 
had  filled  his  engine  with  syrup  instead  of  oil,  what 
would  any  one  think  ? 

Their  unjust  suspicions  would  not  have  worried 


CASEY  RYAN  23 

Casey  in  the  least,  had  Lucky  Lode  not  possessed  a 
lady  cook  who  was  a  lady.  She  was  a  widow  with 
two  children,  and  she  had  the  children  with  her  and 
held  herself  aloof  from  the  men  in  a  manner  befit 
ting  a  lady.  Casey  was  hungry  and  thirsty  and 
tired,  and,  as  much  as  was  possible  to  his  nature, 
disgusted  with  life  in  general.  The  widow  gave 
him  a  smile  of  sympathy  which  went  straight  to  his 
heart,  and  hot  biscuits  and  coffee  and  beans  cooked 
the  way  he  liked  them  best.  These  went  straight 
to  ease  the  gnawing  emptiness  of  his  stomach,  and 
being  a  man  who  took  his  emotions  at  their  face 
value,  he  jumped  to  the  conclusion  that  it  was  the 
lady  whose  presence  gave  him  the  glow. 

Casey  stayed  that  night  and  the  next  day  and  the 
next  at  Lucky  Lode.  The  foreman  helped  him  tow 
the  syruppy  car  up  the  hill  to  the  machine  shop 
where  he  could  get  at  it,  and  Casey  worked  until 
night  trying  to  remove  the  dingbats  from  the  hootin'- 
annies, —  otherwise,  the  pistons  from  the  cylinders. 
The  foreman  showed  him  what  to  do,  and  Casey  did 
it,  using  a  "  double-jack  "  and  a  lot  of  energy. 

Before  he  left  the  Lucky  Lode,  Casey  knew  ex 
actly  what  syrup  will  do  to  a  Ford  if  applied  inter 
nally,  and  the  widow  had  promised  to  marry  him  if 
he  would  stop  drinking  and  smoking  and  swearing. 
Since  Casey  had  not  been  drunk  in  ten  years  on  ac 
count  of  having  seen  a  big  yellow  snake  with  a  green 
head  on  the  occasion  of  his  last  carouse,  he  took  the 
drinking  pledge  quite  cheerfully  for  her  sake.  He 
promised  to  stop  smoking,  glad  that  the  widow 
neglected  to  mention  chewing  tobacco,  which  was  his 


24  CASEY  RYAN 

everyday  comfort.  As  for  the  swearing,  he  told 
her  he  would  do  his  best  under  the  circumstances, 
and  that  he  would  taste  the  oil  hereafter,  and  try 
and  think  up  some  new  names  for  the  Ford. 

"  But  Casey,  if  you  leave  whisky  alone,  you  won't 
need  to  taste  the  oil,"  the  widow  told  him.  Whereat 
Casey  grinned  feebly  and  explained  for  the  tenth 
time  that  he  had  not  been  drinking.  She  did  not 
contradict  him.  She  seemed  a  wise  woman,  after 
a  fashion. 

Casey  drove  back  to  his  camp  at  Starvation 
Mountain  happy  and  a  little  scared.  Why,  after 
all  these  years  of  careless  freedom,  he  should  pre 
cipitate  himself  into  matrimony  with  a  woman  he 
had  known  casually  for  two  days  puzzled  him  a 
little. 

"  Well,  a  man  gits  to  feelin'  like  he  wants  to 
settle  down  when  he's  crowdin'  fifty,"  he  explained 
his  recklessness  to  the  Ford  as  it  hummed  away  over 
Furnace  Lake  which  was  flat  as  a  floor  and  dry  as 
a  bleached  bone, —  and  much  the  same  color.  "  Any 
man  feels  the  want  of  a  home  as  he  gits  older. 
And  Casey's  the  man  that  will  try  anything  once. 
You  ask  anybody."  He  took  out  his  pipe,  looked 
at  it,  bethought  himself  of  his  promise  and  put  it 
away  again,  substituting  a  chew  of  tobacco  as  large 
as  his  cheek  would  hold  without  prying  his  mouth 
open.  "  G'long,  there  —  can't  you?  You  got  your 
belly  full  of  oil  —  shake  a  wheel  and  show  you're 
alive." 

After  that,  Casey  spent  every  Sunday  at  Lucky 
Lode.  He  liked  the  widow  better  and  better.  Es- 


CASEY  RYAN  25 

pecially  after  dinner,  with  the  delicious  flavor  of  pie 
still  caressing  his  palate.  Only  he  wished  she  would 
take  it  for  granted  that  when  Casey  Ryan  made  a 
promise,  Casey  Ryan  would  keep  it. 

"I've  got  so  now  I  can  bark  a  knuckle  with 
m' single- jack  when  I'm  puttin'  down  a  hole,  and 
say,  *  Oh,  dear! '  and  let  it  go  at  that,"  he  boasted 
to  her  on  the  second  Sunday.  "  I'll  bet  there  ain't 
another  man  in  the  state  of  Nevada  could  do 
that." 

"  Yes.  But  Casey  dear,  if  only  you  will  never 
touch  another  drop  of  liquor.  You'll  keep  your 
promise,  won't  you,  dear  boy?  " 

"  Hell,  yes!  "  Casey  assured  her  headily.  It  had 
been  close  to  twenty  years  since  he  had  been  called 
dear  boy,  at  least  to  his  face.  He  kissed  the  widow 
full  on  the  lips  before  he  saw  that  a  frown  sat  upon 
her  forehead  like  a  section  of  that  ridgy  cardboard 
they  wrap  bottles  in. 

"  Casey,  you  swore !  " 

"Swore?     Me?" 

"  I  only  hope,"  sighed  the  widow,  "  that  your 
other  promise  won't  be  broken  as  easily  as  that  one. 
Remember,  Casey,  I  cannot  and  I  will  not  marry  a 
drinking  man ! " 

Casey  looked  at  her  dubiously.  "If  you  mean 
that  syrup — " 

"  Oh,  I've  heard  awful  tales  of  you,  Casey  dear ! 
The  boys  talk  at  the  table,  and  they  seem  to  think 
it's  awful  funny  to  tell  about  your  fighting  and 
drinking  and  playing  cards  for  money.  But  I  think 
it's  perfectly  awful.  You  must  stop  drinking, 


26  CASEY  RYAN 

Casey  dear.  I  could  never  forgive  myself  if  I  set 
before  my  innocent  little  ones  the  example  of  a  hus 
band  who  drank." 

"  You  won't,"  said  Casey.  "  Not  if  you  marry 
me,  you  won't."  Then  he  changed  the  subject,  be 
ginning  to  talk  of  his  prospect  over  on  Starvation. 
The  widow  liked  to  hear  him  tell  about  finding  a 
pocket  of  ore  that  went  seventy  ounces  in  silver  and 
one  and  seven  tenths  ounces  in  gold,  and  how  he  ex 
pected  any  day  to  get  down  into  the  main  body  of 
ore  and  find  it  a  "  contact "  vein.  It  all  sounded 
very  convincing  and  as  if  Casey  Ryan  were  in  a 
fair  way  to  become  a  rich  man. 

The  next  time  Casey  saw  the  widow  he  was  on 
his  way  to  town  for  more  powder,  his  whole  box  of 
"  giant "  having  gone  off  with  a  tremendous  bang 
the  night  before  in  one  of  those  abrupt  hailstorms 
that  come  so  unexpectedly  in  the  mountain  country. 
Casey  had  worked  until  dark,  and  was  dog-tired  and 
had  left  the  box  standing  uncovered  beside  the  dug 
out  where  he  kept  it.  He  suspected  that  a  hailstone 
had  played  a  joke  on  him,  but  his  chief  emotion 
was  one  of  self -congratulation  because  he  had  pru 
dently  stored  the  dynamite  around  a  shoulder  of 
the  canyon  from  where  he  camped. 

When  he  told  the  widow  about  it  as  one  relates 
the  details  of  a  narrow  escape,  and  pointed  out  how 
lucky  he  was,  she  looked  very  grave.  It  was  a 
very  careless  thing  to  do,  she  said.  Casey  admitted 
it  was.  A  man  who  handled  dynamite  ought  to 
shun  liquor  above  all  things,  she  went  on ;  and  Casey 
agreed  restively.  He  had  not  felt  any  inclination  to 


CASEY  RYAN  27 

imbibe  until  that  minute,  when  the  Irish  rose  up 
hotly  within  him. 

"  Casey  dear,  are  you  swre  you  have  nothing  in 
camp?  " 

Casey  assured  her  solemnly  that  he  had  not  and 
drove  off  down  the  hill,  vaguely  aware  that  he  was 
not  so  content  with  life  as  he  had  been. 

"  Damn  that  syrup ! "  he  exploded  once,  quite  as 
abruptly  as  had  the  giant  powder.  After  that  he 
chewed  tobacco  and  drove  in  broody  silence. 


CHAPTER  IV 

Being  Casey  Ryan,  tough  as  hickory  and  wont  to 
drive  headlong  to  his  destination,  Casey  did  not  re 
main  in  town  to  loiter  a  half  a  day  and  sleep  a  night 
and  drive  back  the  next  day,  as  most  desert  dwellers 
did.  He  hurried  through  with  his  business,  filled 
up  with  gas  and  oil,  loaded  on  an  extra  can  of  each, 
strapped  his  box  of  dynamite  upon  the  seat  beside 
him  where  he  could  keep  an  eye  on  it  —  just  as  if 
that  would  do  any  good  if  the  tricky  stuff  meant  to 
blow  up!  —  and  started  back  at  three  in  the  after 
noon.  He  would  be  half  the  night  getting  to  camp, 
even  though  he  was  Casey  Ryan  and  drove  a  mean 
Ford.  But  he  would  be  there,  ready  to  start  work 
at  sunrise.  A  man  who  is  going  to  marry  a  widow 
with  two  children  had  best  hurry  up  and  strike  every 
streak  of  rich  ore  he  has  in  his  claim,  thought  Casey. 

All  that  afternoon,  though  the  wind  blew  hot  in 
his  face,  Casey  drilled  across  the  desert,  meeting 
never  a  living  thing,  overtaking  none.  All  that  af 
ternoon  a  yellow  dust  cloud  swirled  rapidly  along 
the  rough  desert  road,  vainly  trying  to  keep  up  with 
Casey  who  made  it.  In  Yucca  Pass  he  had  to  stop 
and  fill  motor  and  radiator  with  oil  and  water,  and 
just  as  he  topped  the  summit  a  front  tire  popped  like 
a  pistol. 

Casey  killed  the  engine  and  got  out  a  bit  stiffly, 


CASEY  RYAN  29 

pried  off  a  chew  of  tobacco  and  gazed  pensively  at 
Barren  Butte  that  held  Lucky  Lode,  where  the 
widow  was  cooking  supper  at  that  moment.  Casey 
wished  practically  that  he  was  there  and  could  sit 
down  to  some  of  her  culinary  achievements. 

"  I  sure  would  like  to  flop  m'  lip  over  one  of  her 
biscuits  right  now,"  he  said  aloud.  "  If  I  do  strike 
it,  I  wonder  will  she  git  too  high-toned  to  cook  ?  " 

His  eyes  went  to  Furnace  Lake,  lying  smooth  and 
pale  yellow  in  the  saucerlike  basin  between  Barren 
Butte  and  the  foothills  of  Starvation.  In  the  soft 
light  of  the  afterglow  it  seemed  to  smile  at  him  with 
a  glint  of  malice,  like  the  treacherous  thing  it  was. 
For  Furnace  Lake  is  treacherous.  The  Big  Earth 
quake  (America  knows  only  one  Big  Earthquake, 
that  which  rocked  San  Francisco  so  disastrously) 
had  split  Furnace  Lake  halfway  across,  leaving  an 
ugly  crevice  ten  feet  wide  at  the  narrowest  point 
and  eighty  feet  deep,  men  said.  Time  and  passing 
storms  had  partly  filled  the  gash,  but  it  was  there, 
ugly,  ominous,  a  warning  to  all  men  to  trust  the 
lake  not  at  all.  Little  cnacks  radiated  from  the  big 
gash  here  and  there,  and  the  cattle  men  rode  often 
that  way,  though  not  often  enough  to  save  their 
cattle  from  falling  in. 

By  day  the  lake  shimmered  deceptively  with 
mirages  that  painted  it  blue  with  the  likeness  of 
water,  Then  a  lone  clump  of  grease  wood  stood  up 
tall  and  proclaimed  itself  a  ship  lying  idle  on  a  glassy 
expanse  of  water  so  blue,  so  cool,  so  clear,  one  could 
not  wonder  that  thirsty  travelers  went  mad  some 
times  with  the  false  lure  of  it. 


30  CASEY  RYAN 

Just  now  the  lake  looked  exactly  like  any  lake  at 
dusk,  with  the  far  shore  line  reflected  along  its 
edge;  and  Casey's  thought  went  beyond,  to  his  claim 
on  Starvation.  Being  tired  and  hungry,  he  pictured 
wistfully  a  cabin  there,  and  a  light  in  the  window 
when  he  went  chuckling  up  the  long  mesa  in  the 
dark,  and  the  widow  inside  with  hot  coffee  and 
supper  waiting  for  him.  Just  as  soon  as  he  struck 
"  shipping  values  "  that  picture  would  be  real,  said 
Casey  to  himself;  and  he  opened  his  tool  box  and 
set  to  work  changing  the  tire. 

By  the  time  he  had  finished  it  was  dark,  and  Casey 
had  yet  a  long  forty  miles  between  himself  and  his 
sour-dough  can.  He  cranked  the  engine,  switched 
on  the  electric  headlights,  and  went  tearing  down 
the  fifteen-mile  incline  to  the  lake. 

"  She  c'n  see  the  lights,  and  she'll  know  I  ain't 
hangin'  out  in  town  lappin'  up  whisky,"  he  told 
himself  as  he  drove.  "  She'll  know  it's  Casey  Ryan 
comin'  home  —  know  it  the  way  them  lights  are 
slippin'  over  the  country.  Ain't  another  man  on 
the  desert  can  put  a  car  over  the  trail  like  this! 
You  ask  anybody." 

Pleased  with  himself  and  his  reputation,  urged 
by  hunger  and  the  desire  to  make  good  on  his  claim 
so  that  he  might  have  the  little  home  he  instinctively 
craved,  Casey  pulled  the  gas  lever  down  another 
eighth  of  an  inch  —  when  he  was  already  using 
more  than  he  should  —  and  nearly  bounced  his  dyna 
mite  off  the  seat  when  he  lurched  over  a  sandy 
hummock  and  down  on  to  the  smooth  floor  of  the 
lake. 


CASEY  RYAN  31 

It  was  five  miles  across  that  lake  from  rim  to  rim 
and  taking  a  straight  line,  as  Casey  did,  well  above 
the  crevice.  In  all  that  distance  there  is  not  a  stick, 
or  a  stone,  or  a  bush  to  mark  the  way.  Not  even  a 
trail,  since  Casey  was  the  only  man  who  traveled 
it,  and  Casey  never  made  tracks  twice  in  the  same 
place,  but  drove  down  upon  it,  picked  himself  a 
landmark  on  the  opposite  side  and  steered  for  it 
exactly  as  one  steers  a  boat.  The  marks  he  left  be 
hind  him  were  no  more  than  pencil  marks  drawn 
upon  a  sheet  of  buff  wrapping  paper.  Unless  the 
lake  was  wet  with  one  of  those  sporadic  desert  rains, 
you  couldn't  make  any  impression  on  the  cement- 
like  surface. 

And  when  the  lake  was  wet,  you  stuck  where  you 
were  until  wind  and  sun  dried  it  for  you.  Where 
fore  Casey  plunged  out  upon  five  miles  of  blank, 
baked  clay  with  neither  road,  chart  nor  compass 
to  guide  him.  It  was  the  first  time  he  had  ever 
crossed  at  night,  and  a  blanket  of  thin,  high  clouds 
hid  the  stars. 

Casey  thought  nothing  much  of  that, —  being 
Casey  Ryan.  He  had  before  him  the  dim  —  very 
dim  —  outline  of  Starvation,  and  being  perfectly 
sober,  he  steered  a  straight  course,  and  made  sure  he 
was  well  away  from  the  upper  end  of  the  crevice, 
and  pulled  the  gas  lever  down  another  notch. 

The  little  handful  of  engine  roared  beautifully 
and  shook  the  car  with  the  vibration.  Casey  heaved 
a  sigh  of  weariness  mingled  with  content  that  the 
way  was  smooth  and  he  need  not  look  for  chuck 
holes  for  a  few  minutes,  at  any  rate.  He  settled 


32  CASEY  RYAN 

back,  and  his  fingers  relaxed  on  the  wheel.  I  think 
he  dozed,  though  Casey  swears  he  did  not. 

Suddenly  he  leaned  forward,  stared  hard,  leaned 
out  and  stared,  listened  with  an  ear  cocked  toward 
the  engine.  He  turned  and  looked  behind,  then 
stared  ahead  again. 

"  By  gosh,  I  bet  both  hubs  is  busted! "  he  ejacu 
lated  under  his  breath, —  Furnace  Lake  subdues  one 
somehow.  "  She's  runnin'  like  a  wolf  —  but  she 
ain't  goin' !  " 

He  waited  for  a  minute  longer,  trifling  with  the 
gas,  staring  and  listening.  The  car  was  shaking 
with  the  throb  of  the  motor,  but  Casey  could  feel  no 
forward  motion.  "  Settin'  here  burnin'  gas  like  a 
'lection  bonfire  —  she  sure  would  think  I'm  drunk 
if  she  knowed  it,"  Casey  muttered,  and  straddled 
over  the  side  of  the  car  to  the  running  board. 

"  I  wish  —  to  —  hell  I  hadn't  promised  her  not 
to  cuss !  "  he  gritted,  and  with  one  hand  still  on 
the  wheel,  Casey  shut  off  the  gas  and  stepped 
down. 

He  stepped  down  upon  a  surface  sliding  beneath 
him  at  the  rate  of  close  to  forty  miles  an  hour. 
The  Ford  went  on,  spinning  away  from  him  in  a 
wide  circle,  since  Casey  had  unconsciously  turned 
the  wheel  to  the  left  as  he  let  go.  The  blow  of 
meeting  the  hard  clay  stunned  him  just  at  first,  and 
he  had  rolled  over  a  couple  of  times  before  he  began 
to  regain  his  senses. 

He  lifted  himself  groggily  to  his  knees  and  looked 
for  the  car,  saw  it  bearing  down  upon  him  from  the 
direction  whence  he  had  come.  Before  he  had  time 


CASEY  RYAN  33 

to  wonder  much  at  the  phenomenon,  it  was  upon 
him,  over  with  a  lurch,  and  gone  again. 

Casey  was  tough,  and  he  never  knew  when  he 
was  whipped.  He  crawled  up  to  his  knees  again, 
saw  the  same  Ford  coming  at  him  with  dimming 
headlights  from  the  same  direction  it  had  taken  be 
fore,  made  a  wild  grab  for  it,  was  knocked  down 
and  run  over  again.  You  may  not  believe  that,  but 
Casey  had  the  bruises  to  prove  it. 

On  the  third  round  the  Ford  had  slowed  to  a 
walk,  figuratively  speaking.  Casey  was  pretty 
dizzy,  and  he  thought  his  back  was  broken,  but  he 
was  mad  clear  through.  He  caught  the  Ford  by  its 
fender,  hung  on,  clutching  frantically  for  a  better 
hold,  was  dragged  a  little  distance  so  and  then,  as 
its  speed  slackened  to  a  gentle  forward  roll,  he  made 
shift  to  get  aboard  and  give  the  engine  gas  before 
it  had  quite  stopped.  Which  he  told  himself  was 
lucky,  because  he  couldn't  have  cranked  the  thing  to 
save  his  life. 

By  sheer,  dogged  nerve  he  drove  to  camp,  drank 
cold  coffee  left  from  his  early  breakfast,  and  de 
cided  that  the  bite  of  a  Ford,  while  it  is  poisonous, 
is  not  necessarily  fatal  unless  it  attacks  one  in  a 
vital  spot. 

Casey  could  not  drill  a  hole,  he  could  not  swing  a 
pick ;  for  two  days  he  limped  groaning  around  camp 
and  confined  his  activities  to  cooking  his  meals. 
Frequently  he  would  look  at  the  Ford  and  shake  his 
head.  There  was  something  uncanny  about  it. 

"  She  sure  has  got  it  in  for  me,"  he  mused. 
"  You  can't  blame  her  for  runnin'  off  when  I 


34  CASEY  RYAN 

dropped  the  reins  and  stepped  out.  But  that  don't 
account  for  the  way  she  come  at  me,  and  the  way  she 
got  me  every  circle  she  made.  That's  human.  It's 
dog-gone  human!  I've  cussed  her  a  lot,  and  I've 
done  things  to  her  —  like  that  syrup  I  poured  into 
her  —  and  dog-gone  her,  she's  been  layin'  low  and 
watchin'  her  chance  all  this  while.  Fords,  I  be 
lieve,  arc  about  as  human  as  horses,  and  I've  knowed 
horses  I  believe  coulda  talked  if  their  tongues  was 
split.  Ask  anybody..  That  there  car  knowed! " 

The  third  day  after  the  attack  Casey  was  still  too 
sore  to  work,  but  he  managed  to  crank  the  Ford  — 
eyeing  it  curiously  the  while,  and  with  respect,  too 
—  and  started  down  the  mesa  and  up  over  the  ridge 
and  on  down  to  the  lake.  He  was  still  studying  the 
matter  incredulously,  still  wondering  if  Fords  can 
think.  He  wanted  to  tell  the  widow  about  it  and 
get  her  opinion.  The  widow  was  a  smart  woman. 
A  little  touchy  on  the  liquor  question,  maybe,  but 
smart.  You  ask  anybody. 

Lucky  Lode  greeted  him  with  dropped  jaws  and 
wide  staring  eyes,  which  puzzled  Casey  until  the 
foreman,  grasping  his  shoulder  —  which  made 
Casey  wince  and  break  a  promise  —  explained  their 
astonishment.  They  had,  as  Casey  expected,  seen 
his  lights  when  he  came  off  the  summit  from  Yucca 
Pass.  By  the  speed  they  traveled,  Lucky  Lode 
knew  that  Casey  and  no  other  was  at  the  steering 
wheel,  even  before  he  took  to  the  lake. 

"  And  then,"  said  the  foreman,  "  we  saw  your 
lights  go  round  and  round  in  a  circle,  and  disap 
pear  — " 


CASEY  RYAN  35 

"  They  didn't,"  Casey  cut  in  trenchantly.  "  They 
went  dim  because  I  was  taking  her  slow,  being  about 
all  in." 

The  foreman  grinned.  "  We.  thought  you'd 
drove  into  the  crevice,  and  we  went  down  with  lan 
terns  and  hunted  the  full  length  of  it.  We  never 
found  a  sign  of  you  or  the  car  — " 

"  'Cause  I  was  over  in  camp,  or  thereabouts,"  in 
terpolated  Casey  drily.  "  I  wish  you'd  of  come  on 
over.  I  sure  needed  help." 

"  We  figured  you  was  pretty  well  lit  up,  to  circle 
around  like  that.  I've  been  down  since,  by  day 
light,  and  so  have  some  of  the  boys,  looking  into 
that  crevice.  But  we  gave  it  up,  finally." 

Then  Casey,  because  he  liked  a  joke  even  when  it 
was  on  himself,  told  the  foreman  and  his  men  what 
had  happened  to  him.  He  did  not  exaggerate  the 
mishap;  the  truth  was  sufficiently  wild. 

They  whooped  with  glee.  Every  one  laughs  at 
the  unusual  misfortunes  of  others,  and  this  was  un 
usual.  They  stood  around  the  Ford  and  talked  to 
it,  and  whooped  again.  "  You  sure  must  have  had 
so-ome  jag,  Casey,"  they  told  him  exuberantly. 

"  I  was  sober,"  Casey  testified  earnestly.  "  I'll 
swear  I  hadn't  a  drop  of  anything  worse  than  lemon 
soda,  and  that  was  before  I  left  town."  Where 
upon  they  whooped  the  louder,  bent  double,  some  of 
them  with  mirth. 

"Say!  If  I  was  drunk  that  night,  I'd  say  so," 
Casey  exploded  finally.  "  What  the  hell  —  what's 
the  matter  with  you  rabbits  ?  You  think  Casey  Ryan 
has  got  to  the  point  where  he's  scared  to  tell  what  he 


36  CASEY  RYAN 

done  and  all  he  done?  Lemme  tell  yuh,  anything 
Casey  does  he  ain't  afraid  to  tell  about!  Lyin'  is 
something  I  never  was  scared  bad  enough  to  do. 
You  ask  anybody." 

"  There's  the  widow,"  said  the  foreman,  wiping 
his  eyes. 

Casey  turned  and  looked,  but  the  widow  was  not 
in  sight.  The  foreman,  he  judged,  was  speaking 
figuratively.  He  swung  back  glaring. 

"  You  think  I'm  scared  to  tell  her  what  happened  ? 
She'll  know  I  was  sober  if  I  say  I  was  sober.  She 
ain't  as  big  a  fool — "  He  did  not  want  to  fight, 
although  he  was  aching  to  lick  every  man  of  them. 
But  for  one  thing,  he  was  too  sore  and  lame,  and 
then,  the  widow  would  not  like  it. 

With  his  neck  very  stiff,  Casey  limped  down  to 
the  house  and  tried  to  tell  the  widow.  But  the 
widow  was  a  woman,  and  she  was  hurt  because 
Casey,  since  he  was  alive  and  not  in  the  crevice, 
had  not  come  straight  to  comfort  her,  but  had  lin 
gered  up  there  talking  and  laughing  with  the  men. 
The  widow  had  taken  Casey's  part  when  the  others 
said  he  must  have  been  drunk.  She  had  maintained, 
red-lidded  and  trembly  of  voice,  that  something  had 
gone  wrong  with  Casey's  car  so  that  he  couldn't 
steer  it.  Such  things  happened,  she  knew. 

Well,  Casey  told  the  widow  the  truth,  and  the 
widow's  face  hardened  while  she  listened.  She  had 
permitted  him  to  kiss  her  when  he  came  in,  but  now 
she  moved  away  from  him.  She  did  not  call  him 
dear  boy,  nor  even  Casey  dear.  She  waited  until 
he  had  reached  the  point  that  puzzled  him,  the  point 


CASEY  RYAN  37 

of  a  Ford's  degree  of  intelligence.  Then  her  lips 
thinned  before  she  opened  them. 

"  And  what,"  she  asked  coldly,  "  had  you  been 
drinking,  Mr.  Ryan?  " 

"Me?  One  bottle  of  lemon  soda  before  I  left 
town,  and  I  left  town  at  three  o'clock  in  the  after 
noon.  I  swear — " 

"  You  need  not  swear,  Mr.  Ryan."  The  widow 
folded  her  hands  and  regarded  him  sternly,  though 
her  voice  was  still  politely  soft.  "  After  I  had  told 
you  repeatedly  that  my  little  ones  should  ever  be 
guarded  from  a  drinking  father;  after  you  had  sol 
emnly  promised  me  that  you  would  never  again  put 
glass  to  your  lips,  or  swallow  a  drop  of  whisky; 
after  that  very  morning  renewing  your  pledge  — " 

"  Well,  I  kept  it,"  Casey  said,  his  face  a  shade 
paler  under  its  usual  frank  red.  "  I  swear  to  Gawd 
I  was  sober." 

"  You  need  not  lie,"  said  the  widow,  "  and  add  to 
your  misdeeds.  You  were  drunk.  No  man  in  his 
senses  would  imagine  what  you  imagine,  or  do  what 
you  did.  I  wish  you  to  understand,  Mr.  Ryan,  that 
I  shall  not  marry  you.  I  could  not  trust  you  out 
of  my  sight." 

"I  —  was  —  sober!  "  cried  Casey,  measuring  his 
words.  Very  nearly  shouting  them,  in  fact. 

The  widow  turned  pointedly  away  and  began  to 
stir  something  on  the  stove,  and  did  not  look  at  him. 

Casey  went  out,  climbed  the  hill  to  his  Ford, 
cranked  it  and  went  larruping  down  the  hill,  out  on 
the  lake  and,  when  he  had  traversed  half  its  length, 
turned  and  steered  a  straight  course  across  it. 


38  CASEY  RYAN 

Where  tracings  of  wheels  described  a  wide  circle  he 
stopped  and  regarded  them  intently.  Then  he  be 
gan  to  swear,  at  nothing  in  particular,  but  with  a 
hearty  enjoyment  of  the  phrases  he  intoned. 

"  Casey,  you  sure  as  hell  have  had  one  close  call," 
he  remarked,  when  he  could  think  of  nothing  new 
and  devilish  to  say.  "  You  mighta  run  along,  and 
run  along,  till  you  got  married  to  her.  Whadda  I 
want  a  wife  for,  anyway?  Sour-dough  biscuits 
tastes  pretty  good,  and  Casey  sure  can  make  'em!  " 
He  got  out  his  pipe,  filled  it  and  crammed  down  the 
tobacco,  found  a  match  and  leaned  back,  smoking 
with  relish,  one  leg  thrown  over  the  wheel. 

"  A  man's  best  friend  is  his  Ford,"  he  exclaimed. 
"  You  can  ask  anybody."  He  grinned,  and  blew  a 
lot  of  smoke,  and  gave  the  wheel  an  affectionate 
little  twist. 


CHAPTER  V 

Some  months  later  Casey  waved  good-by  to  the 
men  from  Tonopah,  squinted  up  at  the  sun  and  got 
a  coal-oil  can  of  water,  with  which  he  filled  the 
radiator  of  his  Ford.  He  rolled  his  bed  in  the  tarp 
and  tied  it  securely,  put  flour,  bacon,  coffee,  salt  and 
various  other  small  necessities  of  life  into  a  box,  in 
spected  his  sour-dough  can,  and  decided  to  empty  it 
and  start  over  again  if  hard  fate  drove  him  to  sour 
dough. 

"  Might  bust  down  and  have  to  sleep  out,"  he 
meditated.  "  Then,  agin,  I  ain't  liable  to ;  and  if  I 
do,  I'll  be  goin'  so  fast  I'll  git  somewhere  before  she 
stops.  I'm  —  sure  —  goin'  to  go !  " 

He  cranked  the  battered  car,  straddled  in  over  the 
edge  on  the  driver's  side  and  set  his  feet  against 
the  pedals  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  had  urgent 
business  elsewhere.  The  men  from  Tonopah  were 
not  yet  out  of  sight  around  the  butte  scarred  with 
rhyolite  ledges  before  Casey  was  under  way,  rattling 
down  the  rough  trail  from  Starvation  Mountain 
and  bouncing  clear  of  the  seat  as  the  car  lurched 
over  certain  rough  spots. 

Pinned  with  a  safety  pin  to  the  inside  pocket  of 
the  vest  he  wore  only  when  he  felt  need  of  a  safe 
and  secret  pocket,  Casey  Ryan  carried  a  check  for 
twenty-five  thousand  dollars,  made  payable  to  him- 


40  CASEY  RYAN 

self.  A  check  for  twenty-five  thousand  dollars  in 
Casey's  pocket  was  like  a  wildcat  clawing  at  his 
imagination  and  spitting  at  every  moment's  delay. 
Casey  had  endured  solitude  and  some  hardship  while 
he  coaxed  Starvation  Mountain  to  reveal  a  little  of 
its  secret  treasure.  Now  he  wanted  action,  light, 
life  and  plenty  of  it.  While  he  drove  he  dreamed, 
and  his  dreams  beckoned,  urged  him  faster  and 
faster. 

Up  over  the  summit  of  the  ridge  that  lay  between 
Starvation  and  Furnace  Lake  he  surged,  with  radia 
tor  bubbling.  Down  the  long  slope  to  the  lake, 
lying  there  smiling  sardonically  at  a  world  it  loved 
to  trick  with  its  moods,  Casey  drove  as  if  he  were 
winning  a  bet.  Across  that  five  miles  of  baked, 
yellow-white  clay  he  raced,  his  Ford  a-creak  in  every 
joint. 

"Go  it,  you  tin  lizard!"  chortled  Casey.  "I'll 
have  me  a  real  wagon  when  I  git  to  Los.  She'll 
be  white,  with  red  stripes  along  her  sides  and  red 
wheels,  and  she'll  lay  'er  belly  to  the  ground  and 
eat  up  the  road  and  lick  her  chops  for  more.  Sixty 
miles  under  her  belt  every  time  the  clock  strikes,  or 
she  ain't  good  enough  f er  Casey !  Mebby  they  think 
they  got  some  drivers  in  Calif orny.  Mebby  they 
think  they  have.  They  ain't,  though,  because  Casey 
Ryan  ain't  there  yet.  I'll  catch  that  night  train. 
Oughta  be  in  by  morning,  and  then  you  keep  your 
eye  on  Casey.  There's  goin'  to  be  a  stir  around 
Los,  about  to-morrow  noon.  I'll  have  to  buy  some 
clothes,  I  guess.  And  I'll  git  acquainted  with  some 
nice  girl  with  yella  hair  that  likes  pleasure,  and  take 


CASEY  RYAN  41 

her  out  ridin'.  Yeah,  I'll  have  to  git  me  a  swell 
outfit  uh  clothes.  I'll  look  the  part,  all  right  — " 

Up  a  long,  winding  trail  and  over  another  summit 
to  Yucca  Pass  Casey  dreamed,  while  the  stark, 
scarred  buttes  on  either  side  regarded  him  with  enig 
matic  calm.  Since  the  first  wagon  train  had  wor 
ried  over  the  rough  deserts  on  their  way  to  Cali 
fornia,  the  bleak  hills  of  Nevada  had  listened  while 
prospectors  dreamed  aloud  and  cackled  over  their 
dreaming;  had  listened,  too,  while  they  raved  in 
thirst  and  heat  and  madness.  Inscrutably  they 
watched  Casey  as  he  hurried  by  with  his  twenty-five 
thousand  dollars  and  his  pleasant  pictures  of  soft 
ease. 

At  a  dim  fork  in  the  trail  Casey  slowed  and 
stopped.  A  boiling  radiator  will  not  forever  brook 
neglect,  and  Casey  brought  his  mind  down  to  prac 
tical  things  for  a  space.  "  I  can  just  as  well  take 
the  train  from  Lund,"  he  mused,  while  he  poured  in 
more  water.  "  Then  I  can  leave  this  bleatin'  burro 
with  Bill.  He  oughta  give  me  a  coupla  hundred  for 
her,  anyway.  No  use  wasting  money  just  because 
you  happen  to  have  a  few  thousand  in  your  pants." 
He  filled  his  pipe  at  that  sensible  idea  and  turned 
the  nose  of  his  Ford  down  the  dim  trail  to  Lund. 

Eighty  miles  more  or  less  straight  away  across 
the  mountainous  waste  lay  Lund,  halfway  up  a  can 
yon  that  led  to  higher  reaches  in  the  hills,  rich  in 
silver,  lead,  copper,  gold.  Silver  it  was  that  Casey 
had  found  and  sold  to  the  men  from  Tonopah,  and 
it  was  a  freak  of  luck,  he  thought  whimsically,  that 
had  led  him  and  his  Ford  away  over  to  Starvation 


42  CASEY  RYAN 

Mountains  to  find  their  stake  when  they  had  prob 
ably  been  driving  over  millions  every  day  that  they 
made  the  stage  trip  from  Pinnacle  down  to  Lund. 

The  trail  was  rutted  in  places  where  the  sluicing 
rains  had  driven  hard  across  the  hills;  soft  with 
sand  in  places  where  the  fierce  winds  had  swept  the 
open.  For  awhile  the  thin,  wobbly  track  of  a  wagon 
meandered  along  ahead  of  him,  then  turned  off  up 
a  flat-bottomed  draw  and  was  lost  in  the  sagebrush. 
Some  prospector  not  so  lucky  as  he,  thought  Casey, 
with  swift,  soon  forgotten  sympathy.  A  coyote 
ran  up  a  slope  toward  him,  halted  with  forefeet 
planted  on  a  rock,  and  stared  at  him,  ears  perked 
like  an  inquisitive  dog.  Casey  stopped,  eased  his 
rifle  out  of  the  crease  in  the  back  of  the  seat  cushion, 
chanced  a  shot, —  and  his  luck  held.  He  climbed 
out,  picked  up  the  limp  gray  animal,  threw  it  into 
the  tonneau  and  went  on.  Even  with  twenty-five 
thousand  dollars  in  his  pocket,  Casey  told  himself 
that  coyote  hides  are  not  to  be  scorned.  He  had 
seen  the  time  when  the  price  of  a  good  hide  meant 
flour  and  bacon  and  tobacco  to  him.  He  would 
skin  it  when  he  stopped  to  eat. 

Eighty  miles  with  never  a  soul  to  call  good  day 
to  Casey.  Nor  shack  nor  shelter  made  for  man, 
and  only  one  place  where  there  was  water  to  wet  his 
lips  if  they  cracked  with  thirst, —  unless,  perchance, 
one  of  those  swift  desert  downpours  came  riding  on 
the  wind,  lashing  the  clouds  with  lightning. 

Far  ahead  of  Casey  such  a  storm  rolled  in  off  the 
barren  hills  to  the  south.  "  She's  a-wettin'  up  that 
red  lake  a-plenty,"  observed  Casey,  squinting 


CASEY  RYAN  43 

through  the  dirty  windshield.  "  No  trail  around, 
either,  on  account  of  the  lava  beds.  But  I  guess  I 
can  pull  acrost,  all  right."  Doubt  was  in  his  voice, 
however,  and  he  was  half  minded  to  turn  back  and 
take  the  straight  road  to  Vegas,  which  had  been  his 
first  objective.  But  he  discarded  the  idea. 

"  No,  sir,  Casey  Ryan  never  back-trailed  yet. 
Poor  time  to  commence,  now  when  I  got  the  world 
by  the  tail  and  a  downhill  pull.  We'll  make  out, 
all  right  —  can't  be  so  terrible  boggy  with  a  short 
rain  like  that  there.  I  bet,"  he  continued  optimisti 
cally  to  the  Ford,  which  was  the  nearest  he  had  to 
human  companionship,  "  I  bet  we  make  it  in  a  long 
lope.  Git  along,  there !  Shake  a  wheel  — 's  the  last 
time  you  haul  Casey  around.  Casey's  goin'  to  step 
high,  wide  and  handsome.  Sixty  miles  an  hour,  or 
he'll  ask  for  his  money  back.  They  can't  step  too 
fast  for  Casey!  Blue  —  if  I  get  me  a  lady  friend 
with  yella  hair,  mebby  she'll  show  up  better  in  a  blue 
car  than  she  will  in  a  white-and-red.  This  here 
turnout  has  got  to  be  tasty  and  have  class.  If  she 
was  dark  — "  He  shook  his  head  at  that.  "  No, 
sir,  black  hair  grows  too  plenty  on  squaws  an'  chili 
queens.  Yella  goes  with  Casey.  Clingin'  kinda 
girl  with  blue  eyes  —  that's  the  stuff !  An'  I'll  sure 
show  her  some  drivin' !  " 

He  wondered  whether  he  should  try  and  find  the 
girl  first  and  buy  the  car  to  match  her  beauty,  or 
buy  the  car  first  and  with  that  lure  the  lady  of  his 
dreams.  It  was  a  nice  question  and  it  required 
thought.  It  was  pleasant  to  ponder  the  problem, 
and  Casey  became  so  lost  in  meditation  that  he  for- 


44  CASEY  RYAN 

got  to  eat  when  the  sun  flirted  with  the  scurrying 
clouds  over  his  wind-torn  automobile  top. 

So  he  came  bouncing  and  swaying  down  the  last 
mesa  to  the  place  called  Red  Lake.  Casey  had  heard 
it  spoken  of  with  opprobrious  epithets  by  men  who 
had  crossed  it  in  wet  weather.  In  dry  weather  it 
was  red  clay  caked  and  checked  by  the  sun,  and 
wheels  or  hoofs  stirred  clouds  of  red  dust  that  fol 
lowed  and  choked  the  traveler. 

Casey  was  not  thinking  at  all  of  the  lake  when  he 
drove  down  to  it.  He  was  seeing  visions,  though 
you  would  not  think  it  to  look  at  him;  a  stocky, 
middle-aged  man  who  needed  a  shave  and  a  hair-cut, 
wearing  cheap,  dirt-stained  overalls  and  a  blue  shirt 
and  square-toed  shoes  studded  thickly  on  the  soles 
with  hobnails  worn  shiny;  driving  a  desert-scarred 
Ford  with  most  of  the  paint  gone  and  a  front  fender 
cocked  up  and  flapping  crazily,  and  tires  worn  down 
to  the  fabric  in  places.  But  his  eyes  were  very 
keen  and  steady,  and  there  was  a  humorous  twist 
to  his  mouth.  If  he  dreamed  incongruously  of  big, 
luxurious  cars  gorgeous  in  paint  and  nickel  trim, 
and  of  slim  young  women  with  yellow  hair  and  blue 
eyes, —  well,  stranger  dreams  have  been  hidden 
away  behind  exteriors  more  unsightly  than  was  the 
shell  which  holds  the  soul  of  Casey  Ryan. 

Presently  the  practical,  everyday  side  of  his  na 
ture  nudged  him  into  taking  note  of  his  immediate 
surroundings.  Red  Lake  had  received  a  wetting. 
The  dark,  shiny  surface  betrayed  that  fact,  and  it 
was  surprising  how  real  water,  when  you  did  see  it 
on  a  lake  subject  to  mirage,  was  so  unmistakably 


CASEY  RYAN  45 

real.  It  is  like  putting  flakes  of  real  gold  beside 
flakes  of  mica;  you  are  ready  to  swear  that  the  mica 
is  gold, —  until  you  see  the  real  gold  beside  it.  So 
Casey  knew  at  a  glance  that  half  of  Red  Lake  was 
wet,  and  that  the  shiny  patches  here  and  there  were 
not  mirage  pictures  but  shallow  pools  of  water. 
Moreover,  out  in  the  reddest,  wettest  part  of  it  an 
automobile  stood  with  its  back  to  him,  and  pigmy 
figures  were  moving  slowly  upon  either  side. 


CHAPTER  VI 

"  Stuck,"  diagnosed  Casey  in  one  word,  as  he 
caught  sight  of  the  group  ahead.  He  tucked  his 
dream  into  the  back  of  his  mind  while  he  pulled 
down  the  gas  lever  a  couple  of  notches  and  lunged 
along  the  muddy  ruts  that  led  straight  away  from 
the  safe  line  of  sagebrush  and  out  upon  the  platter- 
like  red  expanse. 

The  Ford  grunted  and  lugged  down  to  a  steady 
pull,  but  Casey  drove  as  he  had  driven  his  six  horses 
on  a  steep  grade  in  the  old  days,  coaxing  every  ounce 
of  power  into  action.  He  juggled  with  spark  and 
gas  and  somehow  kept  her  going,  and  finally  stopped 
with  nice  judgment  on  a  small  island  of  harder  clay 
within  shouting  distance  of  the  car  ahead.  He 
killed  the  engine  then  and  stepped  down,  and  went 
picking  his  way  carefully  out  to  it,  his  heavy  shoes 
speedily  collecting  great  pancakes  of  mud  that  clung 
like  glue. 

"  Stuck,  hey  ?  You  oughta  kept  in  the  ruts,  no 
matter  if  they  are  water-logged.  You  never  want 
to  turn  outa  the  road  on  one  of  these  lake  beds,  hunt- 
in'  dry  ground.  If  it's  wet  in  the  road,  you  can 
bank  on  sinkin'  in  to  the  hocks  the  minute  you  turn 
out."  He  carefully  removed  the  mud  pancakes 
from  his  shoes  by  scraping  them  across  the  hub  of 
the  stalled  car  and  edged  back  to  stand  with  his  arms 


CASEY  RYAN  47 

on  his  hips  while  he  surveyed  the  full  plight  of  them. 

"  She  sure  is  bogged  down  a-plenty,"  he  observed, 
grinning  sympathetically. 

"  Could  you  hitch  on  your  car,  Mister,  and  pull  us 
out?"  This  was  a  woman's  voice,  and  it  thrilled 
Casey,  woman  hungry  as  he  was. 

Casey  put  up  a  hand  to  his  mouth  and  surrepti 
tiously  removed  a  chew  of  tobacco  almost  fresh. 
With  some  effort  he  pulled  his  feet  closer  together, 
and  he  lifted  his  old  Stetson  and  reset  it  at  a  con 
sciously  rakish  angle.  He  glanced  at  the  car,  behind 
it  and  in  front,  coming  back  to  the  depressed  male 
individual  before  him.  "  Yes,  ma'am,  I'll  get  you 
out,  all  right.  Sure,  I  will." 

"  We've  been  stalled  here  for  an  hour  or  more," 
volunteered  the  depressed  one.  "  We  was  right  be 
hind  the  storm.  Looked  a  sorry  chance  that  any 
body  would  come  along  for  the  next  week  or  so." 

"  Mister,  you're  a  godsend,  if  ever  there  was  one. 
I'd  write  your  name  on  the  roster  of  saints  in  my 
prayer  book,  if  I  ever  said  prayers  and  had  a  prayer 
book  and  a  pencil  and  knew  what  name  to  write." 

"  Casey  Ryan.  Don't  you  worry,  ma'am.  We'll 
get  you  outa  here  in  no  time."  Casey  grinned  and 
craned  his  neck.  Looking  lower  this  time,  he  saw 
a  pair  of  feet  which  did  not  seem  to  belong  to  that 
voice,  though  they  were  undoubtedly  feminine. 
Still,  red  mud  will  work  miracles  of  disfigurement, 
and  Casey  was  an  optimist  by  nature. 

"  My  wife  is  trying  out  a  new  comedy  line,"  the 
man  observed  unemotionally.  "  Trouble  is  it  never 
gets  over,  out  front.  If  she  ever  did  get  it  across 


48  CASEY  RYAN 

the  footlights,  I  could  raise  the  price  of  admission 
and  get  away  with  it.  How  far  is  it  to  Rhyolite?  " 

"  Rhyolite  ?  Twenty  or  twenty-five  miles,  meb- 
by."  Casey  gave  him  an  inquiring  look. 

"  Can  we  get  there  in  time  to  paper  the  town  and 
hire  a  hall  to  show  in,  Mister?"  Casey  saw  the 
mud-caked  feet  move  laboriously  toward  the  rear 
of  the  car. 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  I  guess  you  can.  There  ain't  any 
town,  though,  and  it  ain't  got  any  hall  in  it,  nor 
anybody  to  go  to  a  show." 

The  woman  laughed.  "  That's  like  my  prayer 
book.  Well,  Jack,  you  certainly  have  got  a  power 
ful  eye,  but  you've  been  trying  to  Svengali  this  out 
fit  out  of  the  mud  for  an  hour,  and  I  haven't  seen 
it  move  an  inch,  so  fan  Let's  just  try  something 
else." 

"  A  prayer  outa  your  prayer  book,  maybe,"  her 
husband  retorted,  not  troubling  to  move  or  turn  his 
head. 

Casey  blinked  and  looked  again.  The  woman 
who  appeared  from  the  farther  side  of  the  car  might 
have  been  the  creature  of  his  dream,  so  far  as  her 
face,  her  hair  and  her  voice  went.  Her  hair  was 
yellow,  unmistakably  yellow.  Her  eyes  were  bluer 
than  Casey's  own,  and  she  had  nice  teeth  and  showed 
them  in  a  red-lipped  smile.  A  more  sophisticated 
man  would  have  known  that  the  powder  on  her  nose 
was  freshly  applied,  and  that  her  reason  for  remain 
ing  so  long  hidden  from  his  sight  while  she  talked 
to  him  was  revealed  in  the  moist  color  on  her  lips 
and  the  fresh  bloom  on  her  cheeks.  Casey  was  not 


CASEY  RYAN  49 

sophisticated.  He  thought  she  was  a  beautiful 
woman  and  asked  no  questions  of  her  make-up  box. 

"  Mister,  you  certainly  are  a  godsend ! "  she 
gushed  again  when  she  faced  him.  "  I'd  call  you  a 
direct  answer  to  prayer,  only  I  haven't  been  pray 
ing.  I've  been  trying  to  tell  Jack  that  the  shovel  is 
not  packed  under  the  banjos,  as  he  thinks  it  was,  but 
was  left  back  at  our  last  camp  where  he  was  trying  to 
dig  water  out  of  a  wet  spot.  Jack,  dear,  perhaps 
the  gentleman  has  got  a  shovel  in  his  car.  Ain't 
it  a  real  gag,  Mister,  us  being  stuck  out  here  in  a 
dry  lake?" 

Casey  touched  his  hat  and  grinned  and  tried  not 
to  look  at  her  too  long.  Husbands  of  beautiful 
young  women  are  frequently  jealous,  and  Casey 
knew  his  place  and  meant  to  keep  it. 

All  the  way  back  to  his  car  Casey  studied  the 
peculiar  features  of  the  meeting.  He  had  been 
thinking  about  yellow-haired  women  —  well!  But 
of  course,  she  was  married,  and  therefore  not  to  be 
thought  of  save  as  a  coincidence ;  still,  Casey  rather 
regretted  the  existence  of  Jack  dear,  and  began  to 
wonder  why  good-looking  women  always  picked 
such  dried-up  little  runts  for  husbands.  "  Show 
actors  by  the  talk,"  he  mused.  "  I  wonder  now  if 
she  don't  sing,  mebby?  " 

He  started  the  car  and  forged  out  to  them,  making 
the  last  few  rods  in  low  gear  and  knowing  how 
risky  it  was  to  stop.  They  were  rather  helpless,  he 
had  to  admit,  and  did  all  the  standing  around  while 
Casey  did  all  the  work.  But  he  shoveled  the  rear 
wheels  out,  waded  back  to  the  tiny  island  of  solid 


50  CASEY  RYAN 

ground  and  gathered  an  armful  of  brush,  which  he 
crowded  in  front  of  the  wheels,  covering  himself 
with  mud  thereby;  then  he  tied  the  tow  rope  he  car 
ried  for  emergencies  like  this,  waded  to  the  Ford, 
cranked  and  trusted  the  rest  to  luck.  The  Ford 
moved  slowly  ahead  until  the  rope  between  the  two 
cars  tightened,  then  spun  her  wheels  and  proceeded 
to  dig  herself  in  where  she  stood.  The  other  car, 
shaking  with  the  tremor  of  its  own  engine,  ruth 
lessly  ground  the  sagebrush  into  the  mud  and  stood 
upon  it  roaring  and  spluttering  furiously. 

"  Nothing  like  sticking  together,  Mister,"  called 
the  lady  cheerfully,  and  he  heard  her  laughter  above 
the  churn  of  their  motors. 

"Say,  ain't  your  carburetor  all  off?"  Casey 
leaned  out  to  call  back  to  the  husband.  "  You're 
smokin'  back  there  like  wet  wood." 

The  man  immediately  stopped  the  motor  and 
looked  behind  him. 

Casey  muttered  something  under  his  breath  when 
he  climbed  out.  He  looked  at  his  own  car  standing 
hub  deep  in  red  mud  and  reached  for  the  solacing 
plug  of  chewing  tobacco.  Then  he  thought  of  the 
lady  and  withdrew  his  hand  empty. 

"  We're  certainly  going  to  stick  together,  Mister," 
she  repeated  her  witticism,  and  Casey  grinned  fool 
ishly. 

"  She'll  dry  up  in  a  few  hours,  with  this  hot  sun," 
he  observed  hearteningly.  "  We'll  have  to  pile 
brush  in,  I  guess."  His  glance  went  back  to  the 
tiny  island  and  to  his  double  row  of  tracks.  He 
looked  at  the  man. 


CASEY  RYAN  51 

"  Jack,  dear,  you  might  go  help  the  gentleman 
get  some  brush,"  the  lady  suggested  sweetly. 

"  This  ain't  my  act/'  Jack  dear  objected.  "  I  just 
about  broke  my  spine  trying  to  heave  the  car  outa 
the  mud  when  we  first  stuck.  Say,  I  wish  there 
was  a  beanery  of  some  kind  in  walking  distance. 
Honest,  I'll  be  dead  of  starvation  in  another  hour. 
What's  the  chance  of  a  bite,  Hon?" 

Contempt  surged  through  Casey.  Deep  in  his 
soul  he  pitied  her  for  being  tied  to  such  an  insect. 
Immediately  he  was  glad  that  she  had  spirit  enough 
to  put  the  little  runt  in  his  place. 

"  You  would  wait  to  buy  supplies  in  Rhyolite,  re 
member,"  she  reminded  her  husband  calmly.  "  I 
guess  you'll  have  to  wait  till  you  get  there.  I've  got 
one  piece  of  bread  saved  for  Junior.  You  and  I  go 
hungry  —  and  cheer  up,  old  dear;  you're  used  to 
it!" 

"  I've  got  grub,"  Casey  volunteered  hospitably. 
"Didn't  stop  to  eat  yet.  I'll  pack  the  stuff  back 
there  to  dry  ground  and  boil  some  coffee  and  fry 
some  bacon."  He  looked  at  the  woman  and  was 
rewarded  by  a  smile  so  brilliant  that  Casey  was 
dazzled. 

"  You  certainly  are  a  godsend,"  she  called  after 
him,  as  he  turned  away  to  his  own  car.  "  It  just 
happens  that  we're  out  of  everything.  It's  so  hard 
to  keep  anything  on  hand  when  you're  traveling  in 
this  country,  with  towns  so  far  apart.  You  just 
run  short  before  you  know  it." 

Casey  thought  that  the  very  scarcity  of  towns 
compelled  one  to  avoid  running  short  of  food,  but 


52  CASEY  RYAN 

he  did  not  say  anything.  He  waded  back  to  the 
island  with  a  full  load  of  provisions  and  cooking 
utensils,  and  in  three  minutes  he  was  squinting 
against  the  smoke  of  a  camp-fire  while  he  poured 
water  from  a  canteen  into  his  blackened  coffee  pot. 

"  Coffee !  Jack,  dear,  can  you  believe  your 
nose !  "  chirped  the  woman  presently  behind  Casey. 
"  Junior,  darling,  just  smell  the  bacon !  Isn't  he  a 
nice  gentleman?  Go  give  him  a  kiss  like  a  little 
man." 

Casey  didn't  want  any  kiss  —  at  least  from 
Junior.  Junior  was  six  years  old,  and  his  face  was 
dirty  and  his  eyes  were  old,  old  eyes,  but  brown  like 
his  father's.  He  had  the  pinched,  hungry  look 
which  Casey  had  seen  only  amongst  starving  In 
dians,  and  after  he  had  kissed  Casey  perfunctorily 
he  snatched  the  piece  of  raw  bacon  which  Casey  had 
just  sliced  off,  and  tore  at  it  with  his  teeth  like  a 
hungry  pup. 

Casey  affected  not  to  notice,  and  busied  himself 
with  the  fire  while  the  woman  reproved  Junior  half 
heartedly  in  an  undertone,  and  laughed  stagily  and 
remarked  upon  the  number  of  hours  since  they  had 
breakfasted. 

Casey  tried  not  to  watch  them  eat,  but  in  spite  of 
himself  he  thought  of  a  prospector  whom  he  had 
rescued  last  summer  after  a  five-day  fast.  These 
people  ate  more  than  the  prospector  had  eaten,  and 
their  eyes  followed  greedily  every  mouthful  which 
Casey  took,  as  if  they  grudged  him  the  food. 
Wherefore  Casey  did  not  take  as  many  mouthfuls 
as  he  would  have  liked. 


CASEY  RYAN  53 

"  This  desert  air  certainly  does  put  an  edge  on 
one's  appetite,"  the  woman  smiled,  while  she  blew 
across  her  fourth  cup  of  coffee  to  cool  it,  and  be 
tween  breaths  bit  into  a  huge  bacon  sandwich,  which 
Casey  could  not  help  knowing  was  her  third. 
"Jack,  dear,  isn't  this  coffee  delicious!  " 

"  Mah-ma. !  Do  we  have  to  p-pay  that  there 
g-godsend  ?  C-can  you  p^pay  for  more  b-bacon  for 
me,  mah-ma  ? "  Junior  licked  his  fingers  and 
twitched  a  fold  of  his  mother's  soiled  skirt. 

"  Sure,  give  him  more  bacon !  All  he  wants. 
I'll  fry  another  skillet  full,"  Casey  spoke  hurriedly, 
getting  out  the  piece  which  he  had  packed  away  in 
the  bag. 

"  He's  used  to  these  hold-up  joints  where  they 
charge  you  forty  cents  for  a  greasy  plate/'  the  man 
explained,  speaking  with  his  mouth  full.  "  Eat  all 
yuh  want,  Junior.  This  is  a  barbecue  and  no  collec 
tion  took  up  to  pay  the  speaker  of  the  day." 

"  We  certainly  appreciate  your  kindness,  Mister," 
the  woman  put  in  graciously,  holding  out  her  cup. 
"  What  we'd  have  done,  stuck  here  in  the  mud  with 
no  provisions  and  no  town  within  miles,  heaven 
only  knows.  Was  you  kidding  us,"  she  added,  with 
a  betrayal  of  more  real  anxiety  than  she  intended, 
"  when  you  said  Rhyolite  is  a  dead  one  ?  We  looked 
it  up  on  the  map,  and  it  was  marked  like  a  town. 
We're  making  all  the  little  towns  that  the  road  shows 
mostly  miss.  We  give  a  fine  show,  Mister.  It's 
been  played  on  all  the  best  time  in  the  country  — 
we  took  it  abroad  before  the  war  and  made  real  good 
money  with  it.  But  we  just  wanted  to  see  the  coun- 


54  CASEY  RYAN 

try,  you  know  —  after  doing  the  cont'nent  and  all 
the  like  of  that.  So  we  thought  we'd  travel  inde 
pendent  and  make  all  the  small  towns  — " 

"  The  movie  trust  is  what  put  vodeville  on  the 
bum,"  the  man  interrupted.  "  We  used  to  play  the 
best  time  only.  We  got  a  first-class  act.  One  that 
ought  to  draw  down  good  money  anywhere,  and 
would  draw  down  good  money,  if  the  movie 
trust  — " 

"  And  then  we  like  to  be  independent,  and  go 
where  we  like  and  get  off  the  railroad  for  a  spell. 
Freedom  is  the  breath  of  life  to  he  and  I.  We'd 
rather  have  it  kinda  rough  now  and  then  to  be  free 
and  independent — " 

"  I've  g-got  a  b-bunny,  a-and  it  f-fell  in  the 
g-grease  box  a-and  we  c-can't  wash  it  off,  a-and 
h-he's  asleep  now.  C-can  I  g-give  my  b-bunny  some 
b-bacon,  Mister  G-godsend  ?  " 

The  woman  laughed,  and  Jack  dear  laughed,  and 
Casey  himself  grinned  sheepishly.  Casey  did  not 
want  to  be  called  a  godsend,  and  he  hated  the  term 
"  Mister  "  when  applied  to  himself.  All  his  life  he 
had  been  plain  Casey  Ryan  and  proud  of  it,  and  his 
face  was  very  red  when  he  confessed  that  there  was 
no  more  bacon.  He  had  not  expected  to  feed  a 
family  when  he  left  camp  that  morning,  but  had 
taken  rations  for  himself  only. 

Junior  whined  and  insisted  that  he  wanted  b-bacon 
for  his  b-bunny,  and  the  man  hushed  him  querul 
ously  and  asked  Casey  what  the  chances  were  for 
getting  under  way.  Casey  repacked  a  lightened  bag, 
emptied  the  coffee  grounds,  shouldered  his  canteen 


CASEY  RYAN  55 

and  waded  back  to  the  cars  and  to  the  problem  of 
red  mud  with  an  unbelievable  quality  of  tenacity. 

The  man  followed  and  asked  him  if  he  happened 
to  have  any  smoking  tobacco,  afterwards  he  begged 
a  cigarette  paper,  and  then  a  match.  "  The  dog 
gone  helpless,  starved  bunch ! "  Casey  muttered, 
while  he  dug  out  the  wheels  of  his  Ford,  and  knew 
that  his  own  haste  must  wait  upon  the  need  of  these 
three  human  beings  whom  he  had  never  seen  until 
an  hour  ago,  of  whose  very  existence  he  had  been 
in  ignorance,  and  who  would  probably  contribute 
nothing  whatever  to  his  own  welfare  or  happiness, 
however  much  he  might  contribute  to  theirs. 

I  do  not  say  that  Casey  soliloquised  in  this  man 
ner  while  he  was  sweating  there  in  the  mud  under 
hot  midday.  He  did  think  that  now  he  would  no 
doubt  miss  the  night  train  to  Los  Angeles,  and  that 
he  would  not,  after  all,  be  purchasing  glad  raiment 
and  a  luxurious  car  on  the  morrow.  He  regretted 
that,  but  he  did  not  see  how  he  could  help  it.  He 
was  Casey  Ryan,  and  his  heart  was  soft  to  suffering 
even  though  a  little  of  the  spell  cast  by  the  woman's 
blue  eyes  and  her  golden  hair  had  dimmed  for  him. 

He  still  thought  her  a  beautiful  woman  who  was 
terribly  mismated,  but  he  felt  vaguely  that  women 
with  beautiful  golden  hair  should  not  drink  their 
coffee  aloud,  or  calmly  turn  up  the  bottom  of  their 
skirts  that  they  might  use  the  underside  of  the  hem 
for  a  napkin  after  eating  bacon.  I  do  not  like  to 
mention  this;  Casey  did  not  like  to  think  of  it, 
either.  It  was  with  reluctance  that  he  reflected  upon 
the  different  standard  imposed  by  sex.  A  man,  for 


56  CASEY  RYAN 

instance,  might  wipe  his  fingers  on  his  pants  and 
look  the  world  straight  in  the  eye, —  but  dog-gone  it, 
when  a  lady's  a  lady,  she  ought  to  be  a  lady. 

Later  Casey  forgot  for  a  time  the  incident  of  the 
luncheon  on  Red  Lake.  With  infinite  labor  and 
much  patience  he  finally  extricated  himself  and  the 
show  people,  with  no  assistance  from  them  save  en 
couragement.  He  towed  them  to  dry  land,  untied 
and  put  away  his  rope  and  then  discovered  that  he 
had  not  the  heart  to  drive  on  at  his  usual  hurtling 
pace  and  leave  them  to  follow.  There  was  an  omin 
ous  stutter  in  their  motor,  for  one  thing,  and  Casey 
knew  of  a  stiffish  hill  a  few  miles  this  side  of  Rhyo- 
lite,  so  he  forced  himself  to  set  a  slow  pace  which 
they  could  easily  follow. 


CHAPTER  VII 

It  was  full  sundown  when  they  reached  Rhyolite, 
which  was  not  a  town  but  a  camp  beside  a  spring, 
usually  deserted.  Three  years  before,  a  mine  had 
built  the  camp  for  the  accommodation  of  the  truck 
drivers  who  hauled  ore  to  Lund  and  were  some 
times  unable  to  make  the  trip  in  one  day.  Casey, 
having  adapted  his  speed  to  that  of  the  decrepit 
car  of  the  show  people,  was  thankful  that  they  ar 
rived  at  all.  He  still  had  a  little  flour  and  coffee 
and  salt,  and  he  hoped  there  was  enough  grease  left 
on  the  bacon  paper  to  grease  the  skillet  so  that  ban 
nocks  would  not  stick  to  the  pan.  He  also  hoped 
that  his  flour  wouM  hold  out  under  the  onslaught 
of  their  appetites. 

But  Casey  was  lucky.  A  half  dozen  cowboys 
were  camped  there  with  a  pack  outfit,  meaning  to 
ride  the  canyons  next  day  for  cattle.  They  were 
cooking  supper,  and  they  had  "  beefed  a  critter  " 
that  had  broken  a  leg  that  afternoon  running  among 
rocks.  Casey  shuffled  his  responsibility  and 
watched,  in  complete  content,  while  the  show  people 
gorged  on  broiled  yearling  steaks.  (I  dislike  to  use 
the  word  gorge  where  a  lady's  appetite  is  involved, 
but  that  is  the  word  which  Casey  thought  of  first.) 

Later,  the  show  people  very  amiably  consented  to 
entertain  their  hosts.  It  was  then  that  Casey  was 


58  CASEY  RYAN 

once  more  blinded  by  the  brilliance  of  the  lady  and 
forgot  certain  little  blemishes  that  had  seemed  to 
him  quite  pronounced.  The  cowboys  obligingly 
built  a  bonfire  before  the  tent,  into  which  the  couple 
retired  to  set  their  stage  and  tune  their  instruments. 
Casey  lay  back  on  a  cowboy's  rolled  bed  with  his 
knees  crossed,  his  hands  clasped  behind  his  thinning 
hair,  and  smoked  and  watched  the  first  pale  stars 
come  out  while  he  listened  to  the  pleasant  twang  of 
banjos  in  the  tuning. 

It  was  great.  The  sale  of  his  silver  claim  to  the 
men  from  Tonopah,  the  check  safely  pinned  in  his 
pocket,  the  future  which  he  had  planned  for  him 
self  swam  hazily  through  his  mind.  He  was  fed  to 
repletion,  he  was  rich,  he  had  been  kind  to  those  in 
need.  He  was  a  man  to  be  envied,  and  he  told  him 
self  so. 

Then  the  tent  flaps  were  lifted  and  a  dazzling, 
golden-haired  creature  in  a  filmy  white  evening 
gown  to  which  the  firelight  was  kind  stood  there 
smiling,  a  banjo  in  her  hands.  Casey  gave  a  grunt 
and  sat  up,  blinking.  She  sang,  looking  at  him  fre 
quently.  At  the  encore,  which  was  livened  by  a 
clog  danced  to  hidden  music,  she  surely  blew  a  kiss 
in  the  direction  of  Casey,  who  gulped  and  looked 
around  at  the  others  self-consciously,  and  blushed 
hotly. 

In  truth,  it  was  a  very  good  show  which  the  two 
gave  there  in  the  tent ;  much  better  than  the  easiest 
going  optimist  would  expect.  When  it  was  over  to 
the  last  twang  of  a  banjo  string,  Casey  took  off  his 
hat,  emptied  into  it  what  silver  he  had  in  his  pockets 


CASEY  RYAN  59 

and  set  the  hat  in  the  fireglow.  Without  a  word  the 
cowboys  followed  his  example,  turning  pockets  in 
side  out  to  prove  they  could  give  no  more. 

Casey  spread  his  bed  apart  from  the  others  that 
night,  and  lay  for  a  long  while  smoking  and  looking 
up  at  the  stars  and  dreaming  again  his  dream ;  only 
now  the  golden-haired  creature  who  leaned  back 
upon  the  deep  cushions  of  his  speedy  blue  car  was 
not  a  vague  bloodless  vision,  but  a  real  person  with 
nice  teeth  and  a  red-lipped  smile,  who  called  him 
Mister  in  a  tone  he  thought  like  music.  Now  his 
dream  lady  sang  to  him,  talked  to  him, —  I  consider 
it  rather  pathetic  that  Casey's  dream  always  halted 
just  short  of  meal  time,  and  that  he  never  pictured 
her  sitting  across  the  table  from  him  in  some  ex 
pensive  cafe,  although  Casey  was  rather  fond  of 
cafe  lights  and  music  and  service  and  food. 

Next  morning  the  glamor  remained,  although  the 
lady  was  once  more  the  unkempt  woman  of  yester 
day.  The  three  seemed  to  look  upon  Casey  still  as 
a  godsend.  They  had  talked  with  some  of  the  men 
and  had  decided  to  turn  back  to  Vegas,  which  was  a 
bigg"er  town  than  Lund  and  therefore  likely  to  pro 
duce  better  crowds.  They  even  contemplated  a 
three-night  stand,  which  would  make  possible  some 
very  urgent  repairs  to  their  car.  Casey  demurred, 
although  he  could  not  deny  the  necessity  for  repairs. 
It  was  a  longer  trail  to  Vegas  and  a  rougher  trail. 
Moreover,  he  himself  was  on  his  way  to  Lund. 

"  You  go  to  Lund,"  he  urged,  "  and  you  can  stay 
there  four  nights  if  you  want  to,  and  give  shows. 
And  I'll  take  yuh  on  up  to  Pinnacle  in  my  car  while 


60  CASEY  RYAN 

yours  is  gettin'  fixed,  and  you  can  give  a  show  there. 
lYou'd  draw  a  big  crowd.  I'd  make  it  a  point  to 
tell  folks  you  give  a  fine  show.  And  I'll  git  yuh 
good  rates  at  the  garage  where  I  do  business.  You 
don't  want  nothin'  of  Vegas.  Lund's  the  place  yoti 
Want  to  hit  fer." 

"  There's  a  lot  to  that,"  the  foreman  of  the  cow 
boys  agreed.  "If  Casey's  willin'  to  back  you  up, 
you  better  hit  straight  for  Lund.  Everybody  there 
knows  Casey  Ryan.  He  drove  stage  from  Pinnacle 
to  Lund  for  two  years  and  never  killed  anybody, 
though  he  did  come  close  to  it  now  and  again.  I've 
saw  strong  men  that  rode  with  Casey  and  said  they 
never  felt  right  afterwards.  Casey,  he's  a  dog-gone 
good  driver,  but  he  used  to  be  kinda  hard  on  passen 
gers.  He  done  more  to  promote  heart  failure  in 
them  two  towns  than  all  the  altitude  they  can  pile 
up.  But  nobody's  going  to  hold  that  against  a  good 
show  that  comes  there.  I  heard  there  ain't  been 
a  show  stop  off  in  Lund  for  over  a  year.  You'll 
have  to  beat  'em  away  from  the  door,  I  bet." 
Wherefore  the  Barrymores  —  that  was  the  name 
they  called  themselves,  though  I  am  inclined  to  doubt 
their  legal  right  to  it  —  the  Barrymores  altered 
their  booking  and  went  with  Casey  to  Lund. 

They  were  not  fools,  by  the  way.  Their  car  was 
much  more  disreputable  than  you  would  believe  a 
car  could  be  and  turn  a  wheel,  and  the  Barrymores 
recognized  the  handicap  of  its  appearance.  They 
camped  well  out  of  sight  of  town,  therefore,  and  let 
Casey  drive  in  alone. 

Casey  found  that  the  westbound  train  had  already 


CASEY  RYAN  61 

gone,  which  gave  him  a  full  twenty-four  hours  in 
Lund,  even  though  he  discounted  his  promise  to  see 
the  Barrymores  through.  There  was  a  train,  to  be 
sure,  that  passed  through  Lund  in  the  middle  of  the 
night;  but  that  was  the  De  Luxe,  standard  and 
drawing-room  sleepers,  and  disdained  stopping  to 
pick  up  plebeian  local  passengers. 

So  Casey  must  spend  twenty-four  hours  in  Lund, 
there  to  greet  men  who  hailed  him  joyously  at  the 
top  of  their  voices  while  they  were  yet  afar  off,  and 
thumped  him  painfully  upon  the  shoulders  when 
they  came  within  reach  of  him.  You  may  not  grasp 
the  full  significance  of  this,  unless  you  have  known 
old  and  popular  stage  drivers,  soft  of  heart  and 
hard  of  fist.  Then  remember  that  Casey  had  spent 
months  on  end  alone  in  the  wilderness,  working  like 
a  lashed  slave  from  sunrise  to  dark,  trying  to  wrest 
a  fortune  from  a  certain  mountain  side.  Remember 
how  an  enforced  isolation,  coupled  with  rough  fare 
and  hard  work,  will  breed  a  craving  for  lights  and 
laughter  and  the  speech  of  friends.  Remember  that, 
and  don't  overlook  the  twenty-five  thousand  dol 
lar  check  that  Casey  had  pinned  safe  within  his 
pocket. 

Casey  had  unthinkingly  tossed  his  last  dime  into 
his  hat  for  the  show  people  at  Rhyolite.  He  had 
not  even  skinned  the  coyote,  whose  hide  would  have! 
been  worth  ten  or  fifteen  dollars,  as  hides  go.  In 
the  stress  of  pulling  out  of  the  mud  at  Red  Lake, 
he  had  forgot  all  about  the  dead  animal  in  his  ton- 
neau  until  his  nose  reminded  him  next  morning  that 
it  was  there.  Then  he  had  hauled  it  out  by  the  tail 


62  CASEY  RYAN 

and  thrown  it  away.  He  was  broke,  except  that  he 
-had  that  check  in  his  pocket. 

Of  course  it  was  easy  enough  for  Casey  to  get 
money.  He  went  to  the  store  that  sold  everything 
from  mining  tools  to  green  perfume  bottles  tied 
with  narrow  pink  ribbon.  The  man  who  owned 
that  store  also  owned  the  bank  next  door,  and  a 
little  place  down  the  street  which  was  called  laconi 
cally  The  Club.  One  way  or  another,  Dwyer  man 
aged  to  feel  the  money  of  every  man  who  came  into 
X,und  and  stopped  there  for  a  space.  He  was  an 
honest  man,  too, —  or  as  honest  as  is  practicable  for 
a  man  in  business. 

Dwyer  was  tickled  to  see  Casey  again.  Casey 
was  a  good  fellow,  and  he  never  needed  his  memory 
jogged  when  he  owed  a  man.  He  paid  before  he 
was  asked  to  pay,  and  that  was  enough  to  make  any 
merchant  love  him.  He  watched  Casey  unpin  his 
vest  pocket  and  remove  the  check,  and  he  was  not 
too  eager  to  inspect  it. 

.  "  Good  ?  Surest  thing  you  know.  Want  it 
cashed,  or  applied  to  your  old  checking  account? 
It's  open  yet,  with  a  dollar  and  sixty-seven  cents  to 
your  credit,  I  believe.  I'll  take  care  of  it,  though 
it's  after  banking  hours." 

Casey  was  foolish.  "  I'll  take  a  couple  of  hun 
dred,  if  it's  handy,  and  a  check  book.  I  guess  you 
can  fix  it  so  I  can  get  what  money  I  want  in  Los. 
I'm  goin'  to  have  one  hell  of  a  time  when  I  git 
there.  I've  earned  it." 

Dwyer  laughed  while  he  inked  a  pen  for  Casey's 
endorsement.  "  Hop  to  it,  Casey.  Glad  you  made 


CASEY  RYAN  63 

good.  But  you'd  better  let  me  put  part  of  that  in  a 
savings  account,  so  you  can't  check  it  out.  You 
know,  Casey  —  remember  your  weak  point." 

"  Aw  —  that's  all  right !  Don't  you  worry  none 
about  Casey  Ryan!  Casey'll  take  care  of  himself 
—  he's  had  too  many  jolts  to  want  another  one. 
Say,  gimme  a  pair  of  them  socks  before  you  go  in 
the  bank.  I'll  pay  yuh,"  he  grinned,  "  when  yuh 
come  back  with  some  money.  Ain't  got  a  cent  on 
me,  Dwyer.  Give  it  all  away.  Twelve  dollars  and 
something.  Down  to  twenty-five  thousand  dollars 
and  my  Ford  auty-mo-bile  —  and  Bill's  goin'  to  buy- 
that  off  me  as  soon  as  he  looks  her  over  to  see  what's 
busted  and  what  ain't." 

Dwyer  laughed  again  as  he  unlocked  the  door  be 
hind  the  overalls  and  jumpers  and  disappeared  into 
his  bank.  Presently  he  returned  with  a  receipted 
duplicate  deposit  slip  for  twenty-four  thousand  eight 
hundred  dollars,  a  little,  flat  check  book  and  two 
hundred  dollars  in  worn  bank  notes.  "  You  ought 
to  be  independent  for  the  rest  of  your  life,  Casey. 
This  is  a  fine  start  for  any  man,"  he  said. 

Casey  paid  for  the  socks  and  slid  the  change  for 
a  ten-dollar  bill  into  his  overalls  pocket,  put  the 
check  book  and  the  bank  notes  away  where  he  had 
carried  the  check,  and  walked  out  with  his  hat  very 
much  tilted  over  his  right  eye  and  his  shoulders 
swaggering  a  little.  You  can't  blame  him  for  that, 
can  you? 

As  he  stepped  from  the  store  he  met  an  old  ac 
quaintance  from  Pinnacle.  There  was  only  one 
thing  to  do  in  a  case  like  that,  and  Casey  did  it  quite 


64  CASEY  RYAN 

naturally.  They  came  out  of  The  Club  wiping  their 
lips,  and  the  swagger  in  Casey's  shoulders  was  more 
pronounced. 

Face  to  face  Casey  met  the  show  lady,  which  was 
what  he  called  her  in  his  mind.  She  had  her  arms 
clasped  around  a  large  paper  sack  full  of  lumpy 
things,  and  her  eyes  had  a  strained,  anxious  look. 

"  Oh,  Mister !  I've  been  looking  all  over  for  you. 
They  say  we  can't  show  in  this  town.  The  license 
for  road  shows  is  fifty  dollars,  to  begin  with,  and 
I've  been  all  over  and  can't  find  a  single  place  where 
we  could  show,  even  if  we  could  pay  the  license. 
Ain't  that  the  last  word  in  hard  luck?  Now  what 
to  do  beats  me,  Mister.  We've  just  got  to  have  the 
old  car  tinkered  up  so  it'll  carry  us  on  to  the  next 
place,  wherever  that  is.  Jack  says  he  must  have  a 
new  tire  by  some  means  or  other,  and  he  was  count 
ing  on  what  we'd  make  here.  And  up  at  that  other 
place  you've  mentioned  the  mumps  have  broke  out 
and  they  wouldn't  let  us  show  for  love  or  money. 
A  man  in  the  drug  store  told  me,  Mister.  We  cer 
tainly  are  in  a  hole  now,  for  sure !  If  we  could  give 
a  benefit  for  something  or  somebody.  Those  men 
back  there  said  you're  so  popular  in  this  town,  I 
believe  I've  got  an  idea.  Mister,  couldn't  you  have 
bad  luck,  or  be  sick  or  something,  so  we  could  give 
a  benefit  for  you  ?  People  certainly  would  turn  out 
good  for  a  man  that's  liked  the  way  they  say  you 
are.  I'd  just  love  to  put  on  a  show  for  you. 
Couldn't  we  fix  it  up  some  way  ?  " 

Casey  looked  up  and  down  the  street  and  found 
it  practically  empty.  Lund  was  dining  at  that  hour. 


CASEY  RYAN  65 

And  while  Casey  expected  later  the  loud  greetings 
and  the  handshakes  and  all,  as  a  matter  of  fact  he 
had  thus  far  talked  with  Bill,  the  garage  man,  with 
Dwyer,  the  storekeeper  and  banker,  and  with  the 
man  from  Pinnacle,  who  was  already  making  ready 
to  crank  his  car  and  go  home.  Lund,  as  a  town, 
was  yet  unaware  of  Casey's  presence. 

Casey  looked  at  the  show  lady,  found  her  gazing 
at  his  face  with  eyes  that  said  please  in  four  lan 
guages,  and  hesitated. 

"  You  could  git  up  a  benefit  for  the  Methodist 
.church,  mebby,"  he  temporized.  "  There's  a 
church  of  some  kind  here  —  I  guess  it's  a  Metho 
dist.  They  most  generally  are." 

"We'd  have  to  split  with  them  if  we  did,"  the 
show  lady  objected  practically.  "  Oh,  we're  stuck 
worse  than  when  we  was  back  there  in  the  mud! 
We'd  only  have  to  pay  five  dollars  for  a  six-months' 
theater  license,  which  would  let  us  give  all  the  shows 
we  wanted  to.  It's  a  new  law  that  I  guess  you 
didn't  know  anything  about,"  she  added  kindly. 
"  You  certainly  wouldn't  have  insisted  on  us  coming 
if  you'd  knew  about  the  license." 

"  It's  a  year,  almost,  since  I  was  here,"  Casey 
admitted ;  "  I  been  put  prospecting." 

"  Well,  we  can  just  work  it  fine  I  Can't  we  go 
somewhere  and  talk  it  over?  I've  got  a  swell  idea, 
Mister,  if  you'll  just  listen  to  it  a  minute,  and  it'll 
certainly  be  a  godsend  to  us  to  be  able  to  give  our 
show.  We've  got  some  crutches  amongst  our  stage 
props,  and  some  scar  patches,  Mister,  that  would 
certainly  make  you  up  fine  as  a  cripple.  Wouldn't 


66  CASEY  RYAN 

they  believe  it,  Mister,  if  it  was  told  that  you  had 
been  in  an  accident  and  got  crippled  for  life?  " 

In  spite  of  his  embarrassment,  Casey  grinned. 
"  Yeah,  I  guess  they'd  believe  it,  all  right,"  he  ad 
mitted.  "  They'd  likely  be  tickled  to  death  to  see 
me  goin'  around  on  crutches."  He  cast  a  hasty 
thought  back  into  his  past,  when  he  had  driven  a 
careening  stage  between  Pinnacle  and  Lund,  strew 
ing  the  steep  trail  with  wreckage  not  his  own. 
"  Yeah,  it'd  tickle  'em  to  death.  Them  that's  rode 
with  me,"  he  concluded. 

"  Oh,  you  certainly  are  a  godsend !  Duck  outa 
sight  somewhere  while  I  go  tell  Jack  dear  that  we've 
found  a  way  open  for  us  to  show,  after  all!" 
While  Casey  was  pulling  the  sag  out  of  his  jaw  so 
that  he  could  protest,  could  offer  her  money,  do 
anything  save  what  she  wanted,  the  show  lady  dis 
appeared.  Casey  turned  and  went  back  into  The 
Club,  remained  five  minutes  perhaps  and  then  walked 
very  circumspectly  across  the  street  to  Bill's"  garage. 
It  was  there  that  the  Barrymores  found  him  when 
they  came  seeking  with  their  dilapidated  old  car, 
their  crutches,  their  grease  paint  and  scar  patches, 
to  make  a  cripple  of  Casey  whether  he  would  or  no. 

Bill  fell  uproariously  in  with  the  plan,  and  Dwyer, 
stopping  at  the  garage  on  his  way  home  to  dinner, 
thought  it  a  great  joke  on  Lund  and  promised  to  help 
the  benefit  along.  Casey,  with  three  drinks  under 
his  belt  and  his  stomach  otherwise  empty,  wanted  to 
sing, 

"Hey,  ole  Bill!     Can-n  yuh  play  the  fiddle-o? 
Yes,  by—" 


CASEY  RYAN  67 

and  stuck  there  because  of  the  show  lady.  Casey 
wouldn't  have  recognized  Trouble  if  it  had  walked 
up  and  banged  him  in  the  eye.  He  said  sure,  he'd 
be  a  cripple  for  the  lady.  He'd  be  anything  once, 
and  some  things  several  times  if  they  asked  him  in 
the  right  way.  And  then  he  gave  himself  into  the 
hands  of  Jack  dear. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

Casey  looked  battered  and  sad  when  the  show 
people  were  through  with  him.  He  had  expected 
bandages  wound  picturesquely  around  his  person, 
but  the  Barrymores  were  more  artistic  than  that. 
Casey's  right  leg  was  drawn  up  at  the  knee  so  that 
he  could  not  put  his  foot  on  the  ground  when  he 
tried,  and  he  did  not  know  how  the  straps  were 
fastened.  His  left  shoulder  was  higher  than  his 
right  shoulder,  and  his  eyes  were  sunken  in  his  head 
and  a  scar  ran  down  along  his  temple  to  his  left 
cheek  bone.  When  he  looked  in  the  glass  which 
Bill  brought  him,  Casey  actually  felt  ill.  They  told 
him  that  he  must  not  wash  his  face,  and  that  his 
week's  growth  of  beard  was  a  blessing  from  heaven. 
The  show  lady  begged  him,  with  dew  on  her  lashes, 
to  play  the  part  faithfully,  and  they  departed,  very 
happy  over  their  prospects. 

Casey  did  not  know  whether  he  was  happy  or  not. 
With  Bill  to  encourage  him  and  give  him  a  lift  over 
the  gutters,  he  crossed  the  street  to  a  restaurant  and 
ordered  largely  of  sirloin  steak  and  French  fried 
potatoes.  After  supper  there  was  a  long  evening 
to  spend  quietly  on  crutches,  and  The  Club  was  just 
next  door.  A  man  can  always  spend  an  evening 
very  quickly  at  The  Club  —  or  he  could  in  the  wet 
days  —  if  his  money  held  out.  Casey  had  money 


CASEY  RYAN  69 

enough,  and  within  an  hour  he  didn't  care  whether 
he  was  crippled  or  not.  There  were  five  besides 
himself  at  that  table,  and  they  had  unanimously 
agreed  to  remove  the  lid.  Moreover,  there  was  a 
crowd  ten  deep  around  that  particular  table.  For 
the  news  had  gone  out  that  here  was  Casey  Ryan 
back  again,  a  hopeless  cripple,  playing  poker  like  a 
drunken  Rockefeller  and  losing  as  if  he  liked  to  lose. 

At  eight  o'clock  the  next  morning  Bill  came  in 
to  tell  Casey  that  the  show  people  had  brought  up 
their  car  to  be  fixed,  and  was  the  pay  good  ?  Casey 
replied  without  looking  up  from  his  hand,  which 
held  a  pair  of  queens  which  interested  him.  He'd 
stand  good,  he  said,  and  Bill  gave  a  grunt  and  went 
Off. 

At  noon  Casey  meant  to  eat  something.  But  an 
other  man  had  come  into  the  game  with  a  roll  of 
money  and  a  'boastful  manner.  Casey  rubbed  his 
cramped  leg  and  hunched  down  in  his  chair  again 
and  called  for  a  stack  of  blues.  Casey,  I  may  as 
well  confess,  had  been  calling  for  stacks  of  blues 
and  reds  and  whites  rather  often  since  midnight. 

At  four  in  the  afternoon  Casey  hobbled  into  the 
restaurant  and  ate  another  steak  and  drank  three 
cups  of  black  coffee.  He  meant  to  go  across  to  the 
garage  and  have  Bill  hunt  up  the  Barrymores  and 
get  them  to  unstrap  him  for  awhile,  but  just  as  he 
was  lifting  his  left  crutch  around  the  edge  of  the 
restaurant  door,  two  women  of  Lund  came  up  and 
began  to  pity  him  and  ask  him  how  it  ever  hap 
pened.  Casey  could  not  remember,  just  at  the  mo 
ment,  what  story  he  had  already  told  of  his  accident. 


70  CASEY  RYAN 

He  stuttered  —  a  strange  thing  for  an  Irishman  to 
do,  by  the  way  —  and  retreated  into  The  Club, 
where  they  dared  not  follow. 

"  H'lo,  Casey!  Give  yuh  a  chance  to  win  back 
some  of  your  losin's,  if  you're  game  to  try  it  again," 
called  a  man  from  the  far  end  of  the  room. 

Casey  swore  and  hobbled  back  to  him,  let  him 
self  stiffly  down  into  a  chair  and  dropped  his 
crutches  with  a  rattle  of  hard  wood.  Being  a  crip 
ple  was  growing  painful,  besides  being  very  incon 
venient.  The  male  half  of  Lund  had  practically 
suspended  business  that  day  to  hover  around  him  and 
exchange  comments  upon  his  looks.  Casey  had  re 
ceived  a  lot  of  sympathy  that  day,  and  only  the  fact 
that  he  had  remained  sequestered  behind  the  cur 
tained  arch  that  cut  across  the  rear  of  The  Club 
saved  him  from  receiving  a  lot  more.  But  of  course 
there  were  mitigations.  Since  walking  was  slow 
and  awkward,  Casey  sat.  And  since  he  was  not  a 
man  to  sit  and  twiddle  thumbs  to  pass  the  time, 
Casey  played  poker.  That  is  how  he  explained  it 
afterwards.  He  had  not  intended  to  play  poker  for 
twenty-four  hours,  but  tie  up  a  man's  leg  so  he  can't 
walk,  and  he's  got  to  do  something. 

Wherefore  Casey  played, —  and  did  not  win  back 
what  he  had  lost  earlier  in  the  day.  Daylight  grew 
dim,  and  some  one  came  over  and  lighted  a  hanging 
gasoline  lamp  that  threw  into  tragic  relief  the 
painted  hollows  under  Casey's  eyes,  which  were  be 
ginning  to  look  very  bloodshot  around  the  blue  of 
them. 

Once,  while  the  bartender  was  bringing  drinks  — 


CASEY  RYAN  71 

you  are  not  to  infer  that  Casey  was  drunk;  he  was 
merely  a  bit  hazy  over  details  —  Casey  pulled  out 
his  dollar  watch  and  looked  at  it.  Eight-thirty  — 
the  show  must  be  pretty  well  started,  by  now.  He 
thought  he  might  venture  to  hobble  over  to  Bill's 
and  have  those  dog-gone  straps  taken  off  before  he 
was  crippled  for  sure.  But  he  did  not  want  to  do 
anything  to  embarrass  the  show  lady.  Besides,  he 
had  lost  a  great  deal  of  money,  and  he  wanted  to  win 
some  of  it  back.  He  still  had  time  to  make  that 
train,  he  remembered.  It  was  reported  an  hour  late, 
some  one  said. 

So  Casey  rubbed  his  strapped  leg,  twisting  his 
face  at  the  cramp  in  his  knee  and  letting  his  com 
panions  believe  that  his  accident  had  given  him  a 
heritage  of  pain.  He  hitched  his  lifted  shoulder  into 
an  easier  position  and  picked  up  another  unfortunate 
assortment  of  five  cards. 

At  ten  o'clock  Bill,  the  garage  man,  came  and 
whispered  something  to  Casey,  who  growled  an  oath 
and  reached  almost  unconsciously  for  his  crutches 
before  trying  to  get  up;  so  soon  is  a  habit  born  in 
a  man. 

"  What  they  raisin'  thunder  about  ?  "  he  asked 
apathetically,  when  Bill  had  helped  him  across  the 
gutter  and  into  the  street.  "  Didn't  the  crowd  turn 
out  like  they  expected  ?  "  Casey's  tone  was  dismal. 
You  simply  cannot  be  a  cripple  for  twenty-four 
hours,  and  sit  up  playing  unlucky  poker  all  night 
and  all  day  and  well  into  another  night,  without 
losing  some  of  your  animation;  not  even  if  you  are 
Casey  Ryan.  "  Hell,  I  missed  that  train  again," 


72  CASEY  RYAN 

he  added  heavily,  when  he  heard  it  whistle  into  the 
railroad  yard. 

"  Too  bad.  You  oughta  be  on  it,  Casey,"  Bill 
said  ominously. 

At  the  garage  the  Barrymores  were  waiting  for 
him  in  their  stage  clothes  and  make-up.  The  show 
lady  had  wept  seams  down  through  her  rouge,  and 
the  beads  on  her  lashes  had  clotted  unbecomingly. 

"  Mister,  you  certainly  have  wished  a  sorry  deal 
on  to  us,"  she  exclaimed,  when  Casey  came  hobbling 
through  the  doorway.  "  Fifteen  years  on  the  stage 
and  this  never  happened  to  us  before.  We've  took 
our  bad  luck  with  our  good  luck  and  lived  honest 
and  respectable  and  self-respecting,  and  here,  at  last, 
ill  fortune  has  tied  the  can  on  to  us.  I  know  you 
meant  well  and  all  that,  Mister,  but  we  certainly 
have  had  a  raw  deal  handed  out  to  us  in  this  town. 
We  —  certainly  —  have !  " 

"  We  got  till  noon  to-morrow  to  be  outa  the 
county,"  croaked  Jack  dear,  shifting  his  Adam's 
apple  rapidly.  "  And  that's  real  comedy,  ain't  it, 
when  your  damn  county  runs  clean  over  to  the  Utah 
line,  and  we  can't  go  back  the  way  we  come,  or  — 
and  we  can't  go  anywhere  till  this  big  slob  here  puts 
our  car  together.  He's  got  pieces  of  it  strung  from 
here  around  the  block.  Say,  what  kinda  town  is 
this  you  wished  on  to  us,  anyway?  Holding  night 
court,  mind  you,  so  they  could  can  us  quicker !  " 

The  show  lady  must  have  seen  how  dazed  Casey 
looked.  "  Maybe  you  ain't  heard  the  horrible  deal 
they  handed  us,  Mister.  They  stopped  our  show 
before  we'd  raised  the  curtain, — and  it  was  a  sev- 


CASEY  RYAN  73 

enty-five  dollar  house  if  it  was  a  cent! "  she  wailed. 
"  They  had  a  bill  as  long  as  my  arm  for  license  — 
we  couldn't  get  by  with  the  five-dollar  one  —  and  for 
lights  and  hall  rent  and  what-all.  There  wasn't 
enough  money  in  the  house  to  pay  it!  And  they 
was  going  to  send  us  to  jail !  The  sheriff  acted  any 
thing  but  a  gentleman,  Mister,  and  if  you  ever  lived 
in  this  town  and  liked  it,  I  must  say  I  question  your 
taste !  " 

"  We  wouldn't  use  a  town  like  this  for  a  garbage 
dump,  back  home,"  cut  in  Jack  with  all  the  contempt 
he  could  master. 

"  And  they  hauled  us  over  to  their  dirty  old  Jus 
tice  of  the  Peace,  and  he  told  us  he'd  give  us  thirty 
days  in  jail  if  we  was  in  the  county  to-morrow  noon, 
and  we  don't  know  how  far  this  county  goes,  either 
way!" 

"  Fifty  miles  to  St.  Simon,"  Bill  told  them  com 
fortingly.  "  You  can  make  it,  all  right  — " 

"  We  can  make  it,  hey?  How're  we  going  to 
make  it,  with  our  car  layin'  around  all  over  your 
garage?"  Jack's  tone  was  arrogant  past  belief. 

Casey  was  fumbling  for  strap  buckles  which  he 
could  not  reach.  He  was  also  groping  through  his 
colorful,  stage-driver's  vocabulary  for  words  which 
might  be  pronounced  in  the  presence  of  a  lady,  and 
finding  mighty  few  that  were  of  any  use  to  him. 
The  combined  effort  was  turning  him  a  fine  purple 
when  the  lady  was  seized  with  another  brilliant  idea. 

"  Jack  dear,  don't  be  harsh.  The  gentleman 
meant  well  —  and  I'll  tell  you,  Mister,  what  let's 
do!  Let's  trade  cars  till  the  man  has  our  car  re- 


74  CASEY  RYAN 

paired.  Your  car  goes  just  fine,  and  we  can  load 
our  stuff  in  and  get  away  from  this  horrible  town. 
Why,  the  preacher  was  there  and  made  a  speech  and 
said  the  meanest  things  about  you,  because  you  was 
having  a  benefit  and  at  the  same  identical  time  you 
was  setting  in  a  saloon  gambling.  He  said  it  was 
an  outrage  on  civilization,  Mister,  and  an  insult  to 
the  honest,  hard-working  people  in  Lund.  Them 
was  his  very  words." 

"Well,  hell!"  Casey  exploded  abruptly.  "I'm 
honest  and  hard-workin'  as  any  damn  preacher. 
You  can  ask  anybody !  " 

"  Well,  that's  what  he  said,  anyhow.  We  cer 
tainly  didn't  know  you  was  a  gambler  when  we  of 
fered  to  give  you  a  benefit.  We  certainly  never 
dreamed  you'd  queer  us  like  that.  But  you'll  do 
us  the  favor  to  lend  us  your  car,  won't  you  ?  You 
wouldn't  refuse  that,  and  see  me  and  little  Junior 
languishin'  in  jail  when  you  know  in  your  heart  — " 

"  Aw,  take  the  darn  car !  "  muttered  Casey  dis 
tractedly,  and  hobbled  into  the  garage  office  where 
he  knew  Bill  kept  liniment. 

Five  minutes,  perhaps,  after  that,  Casey  opened 
the  office  door  wide  enough  to  fling  out  an  assort 
ment  of  straps  and  two  crutches. 

The  show  lady  turned  and  made  a  motion  which 
Casey  mentally  called  a  pounce.  "  Oh,  thank  you, 
Mister!  We  certainly  wouldn't  want  to  go  off  and 
forget  these  props.  Jack  dear  has  to  use  them  in  a 
comedy  sketch  we  put  on  sometimes  when  we  got  a 
good  house." 

Casey  banged  the  door  and  said  something  ex- 


CASEY  RYAN  75 

teedingly  stage-driverish  which  a  lady  should  by  no 
means  overhear. 

Sounds  from  the  rear  of  the  garage  indicated  that 
Casey's  Ford  was  r'arin'  to  go,  as  Casey  frequently 
expressed  it.  Voices  were  jumbled  in  the  tones  of 
suggestions,  commands,  protest.  Casey  heard  the 
show  lady's  clear  treble  berating  Jack  dear  with  thin 
politeness.  Then  the  car  came  snorting  forward, 
paused  in  the  wide  doorway,  and  the  show  lady's 
voice  called  out  clearly,  untroubled  as  the  voice  of  a 
child  after  it  has  received  that  which  it  cried  for. 

"  Well,  good-by,  Mister !  You  certainly  are  a 
godsend  to  give  us  the  loan  of  your  car!  "  There 
was  a  buzz  and  a  splutter,  and  they  were  gone  — 
gone  clean  out  of  Casey's  life  into  the  unknown 
whence  they  had  come. 

Bill  opened  the  door  gently  and  eased  into  the 
office,  sniffing  liniment.  The  painted  hollows  under 
Casey's  eyes  gave  him  a  ghastly  look  in  the  lamp 
light  when  he  lifted  his  face  from  examining  a 
chafed  and  angry  knee.  Bill  opened  his  mouth  for 
speech,  caught  a  certain  look  in  Casey's  eyes  and 
did  not  say  what  he  had  intended  to  say.  Instead : 

"  You  better  sleep  here  in  the  office,  Casey.  I've 
got  another  bed  back  of  the  machine  shop.  I'll  lock 
up,  and  if  any  one  comes  and  rings  the  night  bell 
• — well,  never  mind.  I'll  plug  her  so  they  can't 
ring  her."  The  world  needs  more  men  like  Bill. 

Even  after  an  avalanche,  human  nature  cannot 
resist  digging  in  the  melancholy  hope  of  turning  up 
grewsome  remains.  I  know  that  you  are  all  itching 


76  CASEY  RYAN 

to  put  shovel  into  the  debris  of  Casey's  dreams,  and 
to  see  just  what  was  left  of  them. 

There  was  mighty  little,  let  me  tell  you.  I  said 
in  the  beginning  that  twenty-five  thousand  dollars 
was  like  a  wildcat  in  Casey's  pocket.  You  can't 
give  a  man  that  much  money  all  in  a  lump  and  sud 
denly,  after  he  has  been  content  with  dollars  enough 
to  pay  for  the  food  he  eats,  without  seeing  him  lose 
his  sense  of  proportion.  Twenty-five  dollars  he  un 
derstands  and  can  spend  more  prudently  than  you, 
perhaps.  Twenty-five  thousand  he  simply  cannot 
gauge.  It  seems  exhaustless.  It  is  as  if  you 
plucked  from  the  night  all  the  stars  you  can  see, 
knowing  that  the  Milky  Way  is  still  there  and  un 
numbered  other  stars  invisible,  even  in  the  aggregate. 

Casey  played  poker  with  an  appreciative  audience 
and  the  lid  off.  Now  and  then  he  took  a  drink 
stronger  than  root  beer.  He  kept  that  up  for  a 
night  and  a  day  and  well  into  another  night.  Very 
well,  gather  round  and  look  at  the  remains,  and  if 
there's  a  moral,  you  are  welcome,  I  am  sure. 

Casey  awoke  just  before  noon,  and  went  out  and 
held  his  head  under  Bill's  garage  hydrant,  with  the 
water  running  full  stream.  He  looked  up  and 
found  Bill  standing  there  with  his  hands  in  his 
pockets,  gazing  at  Casey  sorrowfully.  Casey 
grinned.  You  can't  down  the  Irish  for  very  long. 

"How's  she  comin',  Bill?" 

Bill  grunted  and  spat.  "  She  ain't.  Not  if  you 
mean  that  car  them  folks  wished  on  to  you.  Well, 
the  tail  light's  pretty  fair,  too.  And  in  their  hurry 
the  lady  went  off  and  left  a  pink  silk  stockin'  in  the 


CASEY  RYAN  77 

back  seat.  The  toe's  out  of  it  though.  Casey,  i£ 
you  wait  till  you  overhaul  'em  with  that  thing  they 
wheeled  in  here  under  the  name  of  a  car  — " 

''  Oh,  that's  all  right,  Bill,"  Casey  grunted  gamely. 
"  I  was  goin'  to  git  me  a  new  car,  anyway.  Mine 
wasn't  so  much.  They're  welcome." 

Bill  grunted  and  spat  again,  but  he  did  not  say 
anything. 

"  I'll  go  see  Dwyer  and  see  how  much  I  got  left," 
Casey  said  presently,  and  his  voice,  whether  you  be 
lieve  it  or  not,  was  cheerful.  "  I'm  going  to  ketch 
that  evenin'  train  to  Los."  And  he  added  kindly, 
"  Cm  on  and  eat  with  me,  Bill.  I'm  hungry." 

Bill  shook  his  head  and  gave  another  grunt,  and 
Casey  went  off  without  him. 

After  awhile  Casey  returned.  He  was  grinning, 
but  the  grin  was,  to  a  careful  observer,  a  bit  sickish. 
"  Say,  Bill,  talk  about  poker  —  I'm  off  it  fer  life. 
Now  look  what  it  done  to  me,  Bill !  I  puts  twenty- 
five  thousand  dollars  into  the  bank  —  minus  two 
hundred  I  took  in  money  —  and  I  takes  a  check 
book,  and  I  goes  over  to  The  Club  and  gits  into  a 
game.  I  wears  the  check  book  down  to  the  stubs. 
I  goes  back  and  asks  Dwyer  how  much  I  got  in  the 
bank,  and  he  looks  me  over  like  I  was  a  sick  horse 
he  had  doubts  about  being  worth  doctorin',  and  as  .if 
he  thought  he  mebby  might  better  take  me  out  an' 
shoot  me  an'  put  me  outa  my  misery. 

'  Jest  one  dollar  an'  sixty-seven  cents,  Casey,'  he 
says  to  me,  '  if  the  checks  is  all  in,  which  I  trust  they 
air! '  Casey  got  out  his  plug  of  chewing  tobacco 
and  pried  off  a  blunted  corner.  "  An'  hell,  Bill !  I 


78  CASEY  RYAN 

had  that  much  in  the  bank  when  I  started,"  he 
finished  plaintively. 

"  Hell !  "  repeated  Bill  in  brief,  eloquent  sympathy. 

Casey  set  his  teeth  together  and  extracted  com 
fort  from  the  tobacco.  He  expectorated  rumina- 
tively. 

"  Well,  anyway,  I  got  me  some  bran'  new  socks, 
an'  they're  paid  for,  thank  God !  "  He  tilted  his  old 
Stetson  down  over  his  right  eye  at  his  favorite, 
Caseyish  angle,  stuck  his  hands  in  his  pockets  and 
strolled  out  into  the  sunshine. 


CHAPTER  IX 

"At  that,"  said  Bill,  grinning  a  little,  "you'll 
know  as  much  as  the  average  garage-man.  What 
ain't  reformed  livery-stable  men  are  second-hand 
blacksmiths,  and  a  feller  like  you,  that  has  drove 
stage  for  fifteen  year — " 

"  Twenty,"  Casey  Ryan  corrected  jealously. 
*  Six  years  at  Cripple  Creek,  and  then  four  in  Yel 
lowstone,  and  I  was  up  in  Montana  for  over  five 
years,  driving  stage  from  Dry  Lake  to  Claggett  and 
from  there  I  come  to  Nevada  — " 

"  Twenty,"  Bill  conceded  without  waiting  to  hear 
more,  "  knows  as  much  as  a  man  that  has  kept  livery 
stable.  Then  again  you've  had  two  Fords  — " 

"  Oh,  I  ain't  sayin'  I  can't  run  a  garage,"  Casey 
interrupted.  "  I  don't  back  down  from  runnin' 
anything.  But  if  you'd  grubstake  me  for  a  year, 
instead  of  settin'  up  this  here  garage  at  Patmos,  I'd 
feel  like  I  had  a  better  chance  of  makin'  us  both  a 
piece  uh  money.  There's  a  lost  gold  mine  I  been 
wantin'  fer  years  to  get  out  and  look  for.  I  believe 
I  know  now  about  where  to  hit  for.  It  ain't  lost, 
exactly.  There's  an  old  Injun  been  in  the  habit  of 
packin'  in  high  grade  in  a  lard  bucket,  and  nobody's 
been  able  to  trail  him  and  git  back  to  tell  about  it. 
He's  an  old  she-bear  to  do  anything  with,  but  I  got 
a  scheme,  Bill  — " 


8o  CASEY  RYAN 

"  Ferget  it,"  Bill  advised.  "  Now  you  listen  to 
me,  Casey,  and  lay  off  that  prospectin'  bug  for 
awhile.  Here's  this  long  strip  of  desert  from 
Needles  to  Ludlow,  and  tourists  trailin'  through  like 
ants  on  movin'  day.  And  here's  this  garage  that  I 
can  get  at  Patmos  for  about  half  what  the  buildin's 
worth.  You  ain't  got  any  competition,  none  what 
ever.  You've  got  a  cinch.  There'll  be  cars  comin' 
in  from  both  ways  with  their  tongues  hangin'  out, 
outa  gas,  outa  oil,  needin'  this  and  needin'  that  and 
looking  on  that  garage  as  a  godsend  — " 

"  Say,  Bill,  if  I  gotta  be  a  godsend  I'll  go  out 
somewheres  and  holler  myself  to  death.  Casey's  off 
that  godsend  stuff  for  life;  you  hear  me,  Bill — " 

"  Glad  to  hear  it,  Casey.  If  you  go  down  there 
to  Patmos  to  clean  up  some  money  for  you  'n'  me, 
you  wanta  cut  out  this  soft-hearted  stuff.  Get  the 
money,  see?  Never  mind  being  kind;  you  can  be 
kind  when  you've  got  a  stake  to  be  it  with.  Charge 
'em  for  everything  they  git,  and  see  to  it  that  the 
money's  good.  Don't  you  take  no  checks.  Don't 
trust  nobody  for  anything  whatever.  That's  your 
weakness,  Casey,  and  you  know  it.  You're  too 
dog-gone  trusting.  You  promise  me  you'll  put  a 
bell  on  your  tire  tester  and  a  log  chain  and  drag  on 
your  pump  and  jack  —  say,  you  wouldn't  believe  the 
number  of  honest  men  that  go  off  for  a  vacation 
and  steal  everything,  by  golly,  they  can  haul  away ! 
Pliers,  wrenches,  oil  cans,  tire  testers  —  say,  you 
sure  wanta  watch  'em  when  they  ask  yuh  for  a 
tester !  You  can  lose  more  tire  testers  in  the  garage 
business  — " 


CASEY  RYAN  81 

*'  Well,  now,  you  watch  Casey !  When  it  comes 
to  putting  things  like  that  over,  they  wanta  try 
somebody  besides  Casey  Ryan.  You  ask  anybody 
if  Casey's  easy  fooled.  But  I'd  ruther  go  hunt  the 
Injun  Jim  mine,  Bill." 

"  Say,  Casey,  in  this  one  summer  you  can  make 
enough  money  in  Patmos  to  buy  a  gold  mine.  I've 
been  reading  the  papers  pretty  careful.  Why,  they 
say  tourist  travel  is  the  heaviest  that  ever  was 
known,  and  this  is  early  May  and  it's  only  beginning. 
And  lemme  tell  yuh  something,  Casey.  I'd  ruther 
have  a  garage  in  Patmos  than  a  hotel  in  Los  Angeles, 
and  by  all  they  say  that's  puttin'  it  strong.  Ever 
been  over  the  road  west  uh  Needles,  Casey?  " 

Casey  never  had,  and  Bill  proceeded  to  describe 
it  so  that  any  tourist  who  ever  blew  out  a  tire  there 
with  the  sun  at  a  hundred  and  twenty  and  running 
in  high,  would  have  confessed  the  limitations  of  his 
own  vocabulary. 

"  And  there  you  are,  high  and  dry,  with  fifteen 
miles  of  the  ungodliest,  tire-chewinest  road  on  either 
side  of  yuh  that  America  can  show.  About  like  this 
stretch  down  here  between  Rhyolite  and  Vegas. 
And  hills  and  chucks  —  say,  don't  talk  to  me  about 
any  Injun  packin'  gold  in  a  lard  bucket.  Why, 
lemme  tell  yuh,  Casey,  if  you  work  it  right  and  don't 
be  so  dog-gone  kind-hearted,  you'll  want  a  five-ton 
truck  to  haul  off  your  profits  next  fall.  I'd  go  my 
self  and  let  you  run  this  place  here,  only  I  got  a  lot 
of  credit  trade  and  you'd  never  git  a  cent  outa  the 
bunch.  And  then  you're  wantin'  to  leave  Lund  for 
awhile,  anyway." 


82  CASEY  RYAN 

"  You  could  git  somebody  else,"  Casey  suggested 
half-heartedly.  "  I  kinda  hate  to  be  hobbled  to  a 
place  like  a  garage,  Bill.  And  if  there's  anything 
gits  my  goat,  it's  patchin'  up  old  tires.  I'll  run  'em 
flat  long  as  they'll  stay  on,  before  I'll  git  out  and 
mend  'em.  I'd  about  as  soon  go  to  jail,  Bill,  as 
patch  tires  for  tourists;  I  — " 

"  You  don't  have  to,"  said  Bill,  his  grin  widen 
ing.  "  You  sell  'em  new  tires,  see.  There  won't 
be  one  in  a  dozen  you  can't  talk  into  a  new  tire  or 
two.  Whichever  way  they're  goin',  tell  'em  the 
road's  a  heap  worse  from  there  on  than  what  it 
was  behind  'em.  They'll  buy  new  tires  —  you  take 
it  from  me  they  will.  And,"  he  added  virtuously, 
"you'll  do  'em  no  harm  whatever.  If  you  got  a 
car,  you  need  tires,  and  a  new  one'll  always  come  in 
handy  sometime.  You  know  that  yourself,  Casey. 

"  Now,  I'll  put  in  an  assortment  of  tires,  and  I'll 
trust  you  to  sell  'em.  You  and  the  road  they  got  to 
travel.  Why,  when  I  was  in  Ludlow,  a  feller  blew 
in  there  with  a  big  brute  of  a  car  —  36-6  tires. 
He'd  had  a  blow-out  down  the  other  side  of  Patmos 
and  he  was  sore  because  they  didn't  have  no  tires 
he  could  use  down  there.  He  bought  three  tires  — 
three,  mind  yuh,  and  peeled  off  the  bills  to  pay  for 
'em!  Sa-ay  when  yuh  figure  two  hundred  cars  a 
day  rollin'  through,  and  half  of  'em  comin'  to  yuh 
with  grief  of  some  kind  — " 

"  It's  darn  little  I  know  about  any  car  but  a 
Ford,"  Casey  admitted  plaintively.  "  When  yuh 
come  to  them  complicated  ones  that  you  can  crawl 
behind  the  wheel  and  set  your  boot  on  a  .button  and 


CASEY  RYAN  83 

holler  giddap  and  she'll  start  off  in  a  lope,  I  don't 
know  about  it.  A  Ford's  like  a  mule  or  a  burro. 
You  take  a  monkey  wrench  and  work  'em  over,  and 
cuss,  and  that's  about  all  there  is  to  it.  But  you 
take  them  others,  and  I  got  to  admit  I  don't  know." 

"  Well,"  said  Bill,  and  spat  reflectively,  "  you  roll 
up  your  sleeves  and  I'll  learn  yuh.  It'll  take  time 
for  the  stuff  to  be  delivered,  and  you  can  learn  a  lot 
in  two  or  three  weeks,  Casey,  if  you  fergit  that  pros- 
pectin'  idea  and  put  your  mind  to  it." 

Casey  rolled  a  cigarette  and  smoked  half  of  it, 
his  eyes  clinging  pensively  to  the  barren  hills  behind 
Lund.  He  hunched  his  shoulders,  looked  at  Bill 
and  grinned  reluctantly. 

"  She's  a  go  with  me,  Bill,  if  you  can't  think  of  no 
other  way  to  spend  money.  I  wisht  you  took  to 
poker  more*,  or  minin',  or  something  that's  got  ac 
tion.  Stakin'  Casey  Ryan  to  a  garage  business  looks 
kinda  foolish  to  me.  But  if  you  can  stand  it,  Bill, 
I  can.  It's  kinda  hard  on  the  tourists,  don't  yuh 
think?" 

Thus  are  garages  born, —  too  many  of  them,  as 
suffering  drivers  will  testify.  Casey  Ryan,  known 
wherever  men  of  the  open  travel  and  spin  their 
yarns,  famous  for  his  recklessly  efficient  driving  of 
lurching  stagecoaches  in  the  old  days,  and  for  his 
soft  heart  and  his  happy-go-lucky  ways;  famous  too 
as  the  man  who  invented  ungodly  predicaments 
from  which  he  could  extricate  himself  and  be  pleased 
if  he  kept  his  shirt  on  his  back;  Casey  Ryan  as  the 
owner  of  a  garage  might  justly  be  considered  a  joke 
pushed  to  the  very  limit  of  plausibility.  Yet  Casey 


84  CASEY  RYAN 

Ryan  became  just  that  after  two  weeks  of  cramming 
on  mechanics  and  the  compiling  of  a  reference  book 
which  would  have  made  a  fortune  for  himself  and 
Bill  if  they  had  thought  to  publish  it. 

"  A  quort  of  oil  becomes  lubrecant  and  is  worth 
from  five  to  fifteen  cents  more  per  quort  when  you 
put  it  into  a  two-thousand  dollar  car  or  over,"  was 
one  valuable  bit  of  information  supplied  by  Bill. 
Also :  "  Never  cuss  or  fight  a  man  getting  work  done 
in  your  place.  Shut  up  and  charge  him  according  to 
the  way  he  acts." 

It  is  safe  to  assume  that  Bill  would  make  a  for 
tune  in  the  garage  business  anywhere,  given  normal 
traffic. 

Patmos  consists  of  a  water  tank  on  the  railroad, 
a  siding  where  trains  can  pass  each  other,  a  ten-by- 
ten  depot,  telegraph  office  and  express  and  freight 
office,  six  sweltering  families,  one  sunbaked  lodging 
place  with  tent  bedrooms  so  hot  that  even  the  soap 
melts,  and  the  Casey  Ryan  garage.  I  forgot  to  men 
tion  three  trees  which  stand  beside  the  water  tank 
and  try  to  grow  enough  at  night  to  make  up  for  the 
blistering  they  get  during  the  day.  The  highway 
(Coast  to  Coast  and  signed  at  every  crossroads  in 
red  letters  on  white  metal  boards  with  red  arrows 
pointing  to  the  far  skyline)  shies  away  from  the 
railroad  at  Patmos  so  that  perspiring  travelers  look 
wistfully  across  two  hundred  yards  or  so  of  lava 
rock  and  sand  and  wish  that  they  might  lie  under 
those  three  trees  and  cool  off.  They  couldn't,  you 
know.  It  is  no  cooler  under  the  trees  than  else 
where.  It  merely  looks  cooler. 


CASEY  RYAN  85 

Even  the  water  tank  is  a  disappointment  to  the 
uninitiated.  You  cannot  drink  the  water  which  the 
pump  draws  wheezingly  up  from  some  deep  reser 
voir  of  bad  flavors.  It  is  very  clear  water  and  it  has 
a  sparkle  that  lures  the  unwary,  but  it  is  common 
knowledge  that  no  man  ever  drank  two  swallows  of 
it  if  he  could  help  himself.  So  the  water  supply 
of  Patmos  lies  twelve  miles  away  in  the  edge  of  the 
hills,  where  there  is  a  very  good  spring.  One  of  the 
six  male  residents  of  Patmos  hauls  water  in  barrels, 
at  fifty  cents  a  barrel.  He  makes  a  living  at  it,  too. 

One  other  male  resident  keeps  the  lodging  place, 
—  I  avoid  the  term  lodging  house,  because  this  place 
is  not  a  house.  It  is  a  shack  with  a  sign  straddling 
out  over  the  hot  porch  to  insult  the  credulity  of 
the  passers-by.  The  sign  says  that  this  place  is 
"  The  Oasis," —  and  the  nearest  trees  a  long  rifle 
shot  away,  and  the  coolest  water  going  warm  into 
parched  mouths ! 

The  Oasis  stands  over  by  the  highway,  alongside 
Casey's  garage,  and  the  proprietor  spends  nine 
tenths  of  his  waking  hours  sitting  on  the  front  porch 
and  following  the  strip  of  shade  from  the  west  end  to 
the  east  end,  and  in  watching  the  trains  go  by,  and 
counting  the  cars  of  tourists  and  remarking  upon 
the  State  license  plate. 

"  There's  an  outfit  from  loway,  maw,"  he  will 
call  in  to  his  wife.  "  Wonder  where  they're  headed 
fer?"  His  wife  will  come  to  the  door  and  look 
apathetically  at  the  receding  dust  cloud,  and  go  back 
somewhere, —  perhaps  to  put  fresh  soap  in  the 
tents  to  melt.  Toward  evening  the  cars  are  very 


86  CASEY  RYAN 

likely  to  slow  down  and  stop  reluctantly ;  sunburned, 
goggled  women  and  men  looking  the  place  over 
without  enthusiasm.  It  isn't  much  of  a  place,  to  be 
sure,  but  any  place  is  better  than  none  in  the  desert, 
unless  you  have  your  own  bed  and  frying  pan  with 
you,  roped  in  dusty  canvas  to  the  back  of  your  car. 

Alongside  the  Oasis  stands  the  garage,  and  in  the 
garage  swelters  Casey, —  during  this  episode.  Just 
at  first  Bill  came  down  from  Lund  and  helped  him 
to  arrange  and  mark  prices  on  his  stock  of  tires  and 
"  parts  "  and  accessories,  and  to  remember  the  cata 
logue  names  for  things  so  that  he  would  recognize 
them  when  a  car  owner  asked  for  them. 

Casey,  I  must  explain,  had  evolved  a  system  of 
his  own  while  driving  his  Ford  wickedly  here  and 
there  to  the  consternation  of  his  fellow  men.  What 
ever  was  not  a  hootin'-annie  was  a  dingbat,  and 
treated  accordingly.  The  hootin'-annie  appeared  to 
be  the  thing  that  went  wrong,  while  the  dingbat  was 
the  thing  the  hootin'-annie  was  attached  to.  It  was 
perfectly  simple,  to  Casey  and  his  Ford,  but  Bill 
thought  it  was  a  trifle  limited  and  was  apt  to  con 
fuse  customers.  So  Bill  remained  three  days  mop 
ping  his  face  with  his  handkerchief  and  explaining 
things  to  Casey.  After  that  Casey  hired  a  heavy- 
eyed  young  Mexican  to  pump  tires  and  fill  radiators 
and  the  like,  and  settled  down  to  make  his  fortune. 


CHAPTER  X 

Cars  came  and  cars  went,  in  heat  and  dust  and 
some  tribulation.  In  a  month  Casey  had  seen  the 
color  of  every  State  license  plate  in  the  Union,  and 
some  from  Canada  and  Mexico.  From  Needles 
way  they  came,  searching  their  souls  for  words  to 
tell  Casey  what  they  thought  of  it  as  far  as  they  had 
gone.  And  Casey  would  squint  up  at  them  from 
under  the  rim  of  his  greasy  old  Stetson  and  grin 
his  Irish  grin. 

"  Cheer  up,  the  worst  is  yet  to  come,"  he  would 
chant,  with  never  a  qualm  at  the  staleness  of  the 
slogan.  "  How  yuh  fixed  for  water  ?  Better  fill 
up  your  canteens  —  yuh  don't  wanta  git  caught  out 
between  here  and  Ludlow  with  a  boilin'  radiator  and 
not  water  enough.  Got  oil  enough?  Juan,  you 
look  and  see.  Can't  afford  to  run  low  on  oil, 
stranger.  No,  ma'am,  there  ain't  any  other  road 
—  and  if  there  was  another  road  it'd  be  worse  than 
what  this  one  is.  No,  ma'a'm,  you  ain't  liable  to  git 
off'n  the  road.  You  can't.  You'd  git  stuck  in  the 
sand  'fore  you'd  went  the  length  of  your  car." 

He  would  walk  around  them  and  look  at  their 
tires,  his  hands  on  his  hips  perhaps  and  his  mouth 
clamped  shut  in  deep  cogitation. 

"  What  kinda  shape  is  your  extras  in  ?  "  he  would 
presently  inquire.  "  She's  a  tough  one,  from  here 
on  to  the  next  stop.  You  got  a  hind  tire  here  that 


88  CASEY  RYAN 

ain't  goin'  to  last  yuh  five  miles  up  the  road."  He 
would  kick  the  tire  whose  character  he  was  blacken 
ing.  "  Better  lay  in  a  supply  of  blow-out  patches, 
unless  you're  a  mind  to  invest  in  a  new  casing." 
Very  often  he  would  sell  a  tire  or  two,  complete  with 
new  tubes,  before  the  car  moved  on. 

Casey  never  did  things  halfway,  and  Bill  had  im 
pressed  certain  things  deep  on  his  mind.  He  was 
working  with  Bill's  money  and  he  obeyed  Bill's 
commands.  He  never  took  a  check  or  a  promise 
for  his  pay,  and  he  never  once  let  his  Irish  temper 
get  beyond  his  teeth  or  his  blackened  finger  tips. 
Which  is  doing  remarkably  well  for  Casey  Ryan,  as 
you  would  admit  if  you  knew  him. 

At  the  last  moment,  when  the  driver  was  settling 
himself  behind  the  wheel,  Casey  would  square  his 
conscience  for  whatever  strain  the  demands  of  busi 
ness  had  put  upon  it.  "  Wait  and  take  a  good  drink 
uh  cold  water  before  yuh  start  out,"  he  would  say, 
and  disappear.  He  knew  that  the  car  would  wait. 
The  man  or  woman  never  lived  who  refused  a  drink 
of  cold  water  on  the  desert  in  summer.  Casey 
would  return  with  a  pale  green  glass  water  pitcher 
and  a  pale  green  glass.  He  would  grin  at  their  ex 
clamations,  and  pour  for  them  water  that  was  actu 
ally  cold  and  came  from  the  coolest  water  bag  in 
side.  Those  of  you  who  have  never  traveled  across 
the  desert  will  not  really  understand  the  effect  this 
would  have.  Those  who  have  will  know  exactly 
what  was  said  of  Casey  as  that  car  moved  out  once 
more  into  the  glaring  sun  and  the  hot  wind  and  the 
choking  dust. 


CASEY  RYAN  89 

Casey  always  kept  one  cold  water  bag  and  one  in 
process  of  cooling,  and  he  would  charge  as  much  as 
he  thought  they  would  pay  and  be  called  a  fine  fellow 
afterwards.  He  knew  that.  He  had  lived  in  dry, 
hot  places  before,  and  he  was  conscientiously  trying 
to  please  the  public  and  also  make  money  for  Bill, 
who  had  befriended  him.  You  are  not  to  jump  to 
the  conclusion,  however,  that  Casey  systematically 
robbed  the  public.  He  did  not.  He  aided  the  pub 
lic,  helped  the  public  across  a  rather  bad  stretch  of 
country,  and  saw  to  it  that  the  public  paid  for  the 
assistance. 

Casey  saw  all  sorts  and  sizes  of  cars  pass  to  and 
fro,  and  most  of  them  stopped  at  his  door,  for  gas 
or  for  water  or  oil,  or  perhaps  merely  to  inquire 
inanely  if  they  were  on  the  right  road  to  Needles  or 
to  Los  Angeles,  as  the  case  might  be.  Any  fool, 
thought  Casey,  would  know  without  asking,  since 
there  was  no  other  road,  and  since  the  one  road  was 
signed  conscientiously  every  mile  or  two.  But  he 
always  grinned  good-naturedly  and  told  them  what 
they  wanted  him  to  tell  them,  and  if  they  shifted 
money  into  his  palm  for  any  reason  whatever  he 
brought  out  his  green  glass  pitcher  and  his  green 
glass  tumbler  and  gave  them  a  drink  all  around  and 
wished  them  luck. 

There  were  strip-down  Fords  that  tried  to  look 
like  sixes,  and  there  were  six-cylinder  cars  that 
labored  harder  than  Fords.  There  were  limousines, 
sedans,  sport  cars, —  and  they  all  carried  suitcases 
and  canvas  rolls  and  bundles  draped  over  the  hoods, 
on  the  fenders  and  piled  high  on  the  running  boards. 


90  CASEY  RYAN 

Sometimes  he  would  find  it  necessary  to  remove  a 
thousand  pounds  or  so  of  ill-wrapped  bedding  from 
the  back  of  a  tonneau  before  he  could  get  at  the  gas 
tank  to  fill  it,  but  Casey  never  grumbled.  He 
merely  retied  the  luggage  with  a  packer's  hitch  that 
would  take  the  greenhorn  through  his  whole  vocabu 
lary  before  he  untied  it  that  night,  and  he  would  add 
two  bits  to  the  price  of  the  gas  because  his  time  be 
longed  to  Bill,  and  Bill  expected  Casey's  time  to  be 
paid  for  by  the  public. 

One  day  when  it  was  so  hot  that  even  Casey  was 
limp  and  pale  from  the  heat,  and  the  proprietor  of 
the  Oasis  had  forsaken  the  strip  of  shade  on  his 
porch  and  had  chased  his  dog  out  of  the  dirt  hollow 
it  had  scratched  under  the  house  and  had  crawled 
under  there  himself,  a  party  pulled  slowly  up  to  the 
garage  and  stopped.  Casey  was  inside  sitting  on  the 
ground  and  letting  the  most  recently  filled  water  bag 
drip  down  the  back  of  his  neck.  He  shouted  to 
Juan,  but  Juan  had  gone  somewhere  to  find  himself 
a  cool  spot  for  his  siesta,  so  Casey  got  slowly  to  his 
feet  and  went  out  to  meet  Trouble,  sopping  his  wet 
hair  against  the  back  of  his  head  with  the  flat  of 
his  hand  before  he  put  on  his  hat.  He  squinted  into 
the  sunshine  and  straightway  squared  himself  for; 
business. 

This  was  a  two-ton  truck  fitted  for  camping.  A. 
tall,  lean  man  whose  overalls  hung  wide  from  his 
suspenders  and  did  not  seem  to  touch  his  person 
anywhere,  climbed  out  and  stood  looking  at  the  bare 
rims  of  two  wheels,  as  if  he  had  at  that  moment  dis 
covered  them. 


CASEY  RYAN  91 

"  Thinkin'  about  the  price  uh  tires,  stranger?" 
Casey  grinned  cheerfully.  "  It's  lucky  I  got  your 
size,  at  that.  Fabrics  and  cords  —  and  the  differ 
ence  in  price  is  more'n  made  up  in  wear.  Run  yer 
car  inside  outa  the  sun  whilst  I  change  yer  grief 
into  joy." 

"  I  been  havin'  hard  luck  all  along,"  the  man  com 
plained  listlessly.  "  Geewhillikens,  but  it  shore  does 
cost  to  travel !  " 

Casey  should  have  been  warned  by  that.  Bill 
would  have  smelled  a  purse  lean  as  the  man  himself 
and  would  have  shied  a  little.  But  Casey  could 
meet  Trouble  every  morning  after  breakfast  and  yet 
fail  to  recognize  her  until  she  had  him  by  the  collar. 

"  You  ask  anybody  if  it  don't !  "  he  agreed  sympa 
thetically,  mentally  going  over  his  rack  of  tires,  not 
quite  sure  that  he  had  four  in  that  size,  but  hoping 
that  he  had  five  and  that  he  could  persuade  the  man 
to  invest.  He  surely  needed  rubber,  thought  Casey, 
as  he  scrutinized  the  two  casings  on  the  car.  He 
stood  aside  while  the  man  backed,  turned  a  wide 
half-circle  and  drove  into  the  grateful  shade  of  the 
garage.  It  seemed  cool  in  there  after  the  blistering 
sunlight,  unless  one  glanced  at  Casey's  thermometer 
which  declared  a  hundred  and  nineteen  with  its  in 
exorable  red  line. 

"  Whatcha  got  there?  Goats?"  Casey's  eyes 
had  left  the  wheels  of  the  trucks  and  dwelt  upon  a 
trailer  penned  round  and  filled  with  uneasy  animals. 

"  Yeah.  Twelve,  not  countin'  the  little  fellers. 
And  m'wife  an'  six  young  ones  all  told.  Makes 
quite  a  drag  on  the  ole  boat.  Knocks  thunder  outa 


92  CASEY  RYAN 

tires,  too.  You  say  you  got  my  size?  We-ell,  I 
guess  I  got  to  have  'em,  cost  er  no  cost." 

"  Sure  you  got  to  have  'em.  It's  worse  ahead 
than  what  you  been  over,  an'  if  I  was  you  I'd  shoe 
'er  all  round  before  I  hit  that  lava  stretch  up  ahead 
here.  You  could  keep  them  two  fer  extras  in  case 
of  accident.  Might  git  some  wear  outa  them  when 
yuh  strike  good  roads  again,  but  they  shore  won't 
go  far  in  these  rocks.  You  ask  anybody." 

"  We-ell  —  I  guess  mebby  I  better  —  I  don't  see 
how  I'm  goin'  to  git  along  any  other  way,  but  — " 

Casey  had  gone  to  find  where  Juan  had  cached 
himself  and  to  pluck  that  apathetic  youth  from 
slumber  and  set  him  to  work.  Four  casings  and 
tubes  for  a  two-ton  truck  run  into  money,  as  Casey 
was  telling  himself  complacently.  He  had  not  yet 
sold  any  tires  for  a  two-ton  truck,  and  he  had  just 
two  fabrics  and  two  cords,  in  trade  vernacular.  He 
paid  no  further  attention  to  the  man,  since  there 
would  be  no  bickering.  When  a  man  has  only  two 
badly  chewed  tires,  and  four  wheels,  argument  is 
superfluous. 

So  Casey  mildly  kicked  Juan  awake  and  after  the 
garage  jack,  and  himself  wheeled  out  his  four  great 
pneumatic  tires,  and  with  his  jackknife  slit  the 
wound  paper  covering,  and  wondered  what  it  was 
that  smelled  so  unpleasant.  A  goat  bleated  plain 
tively  to  remind  him  of  their  presence.  Another  goat 
carried  on  the  theme,  and  the  chorus  swelled  quav- 
eringly  and  held  to  certain  minor  notes.  Within  the 
closed  truck  a  small  child  whimpered  and  then  be 
gan  to  cry  definitely  at  the  top  of  its  voice. 


CASEY  RYAN  93 

Casey  looked  up  from  bending  over  the  fourth 
tire  wrapping.  "  Better  let  your  folks  git  out  and 
rest  awhile,"  he  invited  hospitably.  "  It's  goin'  to 
take  a  little  time  to  put  these  tires  on.  I  got  some 
cold  water  back  there  —  help  yourself." 

"  Well,  I'd  kinda  like  to  water  them  goats,"  the 
man  observed  diffidently.  "  They  ain't  had  a  drop 
sence  early  yest-day  mornin'.  You  got  water  here, 
ain't  yuh?  An'  they  might  graze  around  a  mite 
whilst  we're  here.  Travelin'  like  this,  I  try  to  kinda 
give  'em  a  chanct  when  we  stop  along  the  road.  It's 
been  an  awful  trip.  We  come  clear  from  Wyoming. 
How  far  is  it  from  here  to  San  Jose,  Calif orny?  " 

Casey  had  in  the  first  week  learned  that  it  is  not 
wise  for  a  garage  man  to  confess  that  he  does  not 
know  distances.  People  always  asked  him  how  far 
it  was  to  some  place  of  which  he  had  never  heard, 
and  he  had  learned  to  name  figures  at  random  very 
convincingly.  He  named  now  what  seemed  to  him  a 
sufficient  number,  and  the  man  said  "  Gosh !  "  and 
went  back  to  let  down  the  end  gate  of  the  trailer 
and  release  the  goats.  "  You  said  you  got  water 
for  'em?  "  he  asked,  his  tone  putting  the  question  in 
the  form  of  both  statement  and  request. 

When  you  are  selling  four  thirty-six-sixes,  two 
of  them  cords,  to  a  man,  you  can't  be  stingy  with  a 
barrel  of  water,  even  if  it  does  cost  fifty  cents. 
Casey  told  Juan  to  go  borrow  a  tub  next  door  and 
show  the  man  where  the  water  barrel  stood.  Juan, 
squatted  on  his  heels  while  he  languidly  pumped  the 
jack  handle  up  and  down,  and  seeming  pleased  than 
otherwise  when  the  jack  slipped  and  tilted  so  that 


94  CASEY  RYAN 

he  must  lower  it  and  begin  all  over  again,  got  lan 
guidly  to  his  bare  feet  and  lounged  off  obediently. 
According  to  Juan's  simple  philosophy,  to  obey  was 
better  than  to  dodge  hammers,  pliers  or  monkey 
wrenches,  since  Casey's  aim  was  direct  and  there  was 
usually  considerable  force  of  hard,  prospector's 
muscle  behind  it. 

Juan  was  gone  a  long  while,  long  enough  to  walk 
slowly  to  the  station  of  Patmos  and  back  again,  but 
he  returned  with  the  tub,  and  the  incessant  bleating 
of  the  goats  stilled  intermittently  while  they  drank. 
By  this  time  Casey  had  forgotten  the  goats,  even 
with  the  noise  of  them  filling  his  ears. 

Casey  was  down  on  his  knees  hammering  dents 
out  of  the  rim  of  a  front  wheel  so  that  the  new  tire 
could  go  on.  Four  of  the  six  offspring  crowded 
around  him,  getting  in  the  way  of  Casey's  hammer 
and  asking  questions  which  no  man  could  answer 
and  remain  normal.  Casey  had,  while  he  un 
wrapped  the  casings,  made  a  mental  reduction  in  the 
price.  Even  Bill  would  throw  off  a  little,  he  told 
himself,  on  a  sale  like  this.  Mentally  he  had  de 
ducted  twenty-five  dollars  from  the  grand  total,  but 
before  he  had  that  rim  straightened  he  said  to  him 
self  that  he'd  be  darned  if  he  discounted  more  than 
twenty. 

"  Humbolt  an'  Greeley,  you  git  away  from  there 
an'  git  out  here  an'  git  these  goats  a-grazin',"  the 
lean  customer  called  sharply  from  the  rear  of  the 
garage.  Humbolt  and  Greeley  hastily  proceeded  to 
git,  which  left  two  unkempt  young  girls  standing 
there  at  Casey's  elbow  so  that  he  could  not  expecto- 


CASEY  RYAN  95 

rate  where  he  pleased,  or  swear  at  all.  Wherefore 
Casey  was  appreciably  handicapped  in  his  work,  and 
he  wished  that  he  were  away  out  in  the  hills  digging 
into  the  side  of  a  gulch  somewhere,  sun-blistered, 
broke,  more  than  half  starving  on  short  rations  and 
with  rheumatism  in  his  right  shoulder  and  a  bunion 
giving  him  a  limp  in  the  left  foot.  He  could  still 
be  happy  — 

"What  yuh  doin'  that  for?"  the  shrillest  voice 
repeated  three  times  rapidly,  with  a  sniffle  now  and 
then  by  way  of  punctuation. 

"  To  make  little  girls  ask  questions,"  grunted 
Casey,  glancing  around  him  for  the  snub-nosed, 
double-headed,  four-pound  hammer  which  he  called 
affectionately  by  the  name  Maud.  The  biggest  girl 
had  Maud.  She  had  turned  it  upright  on  its  handle 
and  was  sitting  on  the  head  of  it.  When  Casey 
reached  for  it  and  got  it,  without  apology  or  warn 
ing,  the  girl  sprawled  backward  and  howled. 

"  Porshea,  you  git  up  from  there !  Shame  on 
yuh ! "  A  shrill  woman  voice,  very  much  like  the 
younger  voices  except  that  it  was  worn  rough  and 
querulous  with  age  and  many  hardships,  called  down 
from  the  truck.  Casey  looked  up,  startled,  and  tried 
to  remember  just  what  he  had  said  before  the  girls 
appeared  to  silence  him.  The  woman  was  very 
large  both  in  height  and  in  bulk,  and  she  was  heav 
ing  herself  out  of  the  truck  in  a  way  that  reminded 
Casey  oddly  of  a  disgruntled  hippopotamus  he  had 
once  watched  coming  out  of  its  tank  at  a  circus. 
Casey  moved  modestly  away  and  did  not  look,  after 
that  first  glance.  A  truck,  you  will  please  under- 


96  CASEY  RYAN 

stand,  is  not  a  touring  car,  and  ladies  who  have 
passed  the  two-hundred-pound  notch  on  the 
scales  should  remain  up  there  and  call  for  a  step- 
ladder. 

She  descended,  and  the  jack  slipped  and  let  the 
car  down  with  a  six-inch  lurch.  Casey  is  remark 
ably  quick  in  his  motions.  He  turned,  jumped  three 
feet  and  caught  the  lady's  full  weight  in  his  arms 
as  she  was  falling  toward  him.  Probably  he  would 
have  caught  it  anyway,  but  then  there  would  have 
been  little  left  of  Casey,  and  his  troubles  would  have 
been  finished  instead  of  being  just  begun. 

He  had  just  straightened  the  jack  and  was  begin 
ning  to  lift  the  bare  wheel  off  the  ground  again  when 
the  fifth  offspring  descended.  Casey  thought  again 
of  the  hippopotamus  in  its  infancy.  The  fifth  was 
perhaps  fifteen,  but  she  had  apparently  reached  her 
full  growth,  which  was  very  nearly  that  of  her 
mother.  She  had  also  reached  the  age  of  self -con 
sciousness,  and  she  simpered  at  Casey  when  he  as 
sisted  her  to  alight. 

Casey  was  not  bashful,  nor  was  he  over-fastidi 
ous;  men  who  have  lived  long  in  the  wilderness  are 
not,  as  a  rule.  Still,  he  had  his  little  whims,  and  he 
failed  to  react  to  the  young  lady's  smile.  His  pale 
blue  eyes  were  keen  to  observe  details  and  even 
Casey  did  not  approve  of  "  high-water  marks  "  on 
feminine  beauty. 

Well,  that  brought  the  whole  family  to  view  save 
the  youngest  who  had  evidently  dropped  asleep  and 
was  left  in  the  truck.  Casey  went  to  work  on  the 
wheel  again,  after  directing  mother  and  daughter 


CASEY  RYAN  97 

to  the  desert  water  bag  which  swung  suspended 
from  ropes  in  the  rear  of  the  garage. 

Ten  minutes  later  a  dusty  limousine  stopped  for 
gas  and  oil,  and  Casey  left  his  work  to  wait  upon 
them.  There  was  a  very  good-looking  girl  driving, 
and  the  man  beside  her  was  undoubtedly  only  her 
father,  and  Casey  was  humanly  anxious  to  be  re 
membered  pleasantly  when  they  drove  on.  He 
asked  them  to  wait  and  have  a  drink  of  cold  water, 
and  was  deeply  humiliated  to  find  that  both  water 
bags  were  empty, —  the  overgrown  girl  having  used 
the  last  to  wash  her  face.  Casey  didn't  like  her  any 
the  better  for  that,  or  for  having  accentuated  the 
high-water  mark,  or  for  forcing  him  to  apologize  to 
the  pretty  driver  of  the  limousine. 

He  refilled  the  water  bags  and  remarked  pointedly 
that  it  would  take  an  hour  for  the  water  to  cool  in 
them  and  that  they  must  be  left  alone  in  the  mean 
time.  He  did  not  look  at  the  girl,  but  from  the  tail 
of  his  eye  he  saw  her  pull  a  contemptuous  grimace 
at  him  when  she  thought  his  back  safely  turned. 

Wherefore  Casey  finished  the  putting  on  of  the 
fourth  tire  pretty  well  up  toward  the  boiling  point 
in  temper  and  in  blood.  I  have  not  mentioned  half 
the  disagreeable  trifles  that  nagged  at  him  during 
the  interval, —  his  audience,  for  instance,  that  hov 
ered  so  close  that  he  could  not  get  up  without  collid 
ing  with  one  of  them,  so  full  of  aimless  talk  that  he 
mislaid  tools  in  his  distraction.  Juan  was  a  pest  and 
Casey  thought  malevolently  how  he  would  kill  him 
when  the  job  was  finished.  Juan  went  around  like 
one  in  a  trance,  his  heavy-lidded,  opaque  eyes  follow- 


98  CASEY  RYAN 

ing  every  movement  of  the  girl,  which  kept  her 
younger  sisters  giggling.  But  even  with  interrup 
tions  and  practically  no  assistance  the  truck  stood  at 
last  with  four  good  tires  on  its  wheels,  and  Casey 
wiped  a  perspiring  face  and  let  down  the  jack, 
thankful  that  the  job  was  done;  thinking,  too,  that 
ten  dollars  would  be  a  big  reduction  on  the  price. 
"Hf.  had  to  count  his  time,  you  see. 

"  Well,  how  much  does  it  come  to,  mister?  "  the 
lord  of  the  flock  asked  dolefully,  when  Casey  called 
him  in  and  told  him  that  he  could  go  at  any  time 
now. 

Casey  told  him,  and  made  the  price  only  five  dol-" 
lars  lower  than  the  full  amount,  just  because  he 
hated  to  see  men  walk  around  loose  in  their  pants, 
with  their  stomachs  sagged  in  as  though  they  never 
were  fed  a  square  meal  in  their  lives. 

"  It's  a  pile  uh  money  to  pay  out  for  rubber  that's 
goin'  to  be  chewed  off  on  these  here  danged  rocks," 
sighed  the  man. 

Casey  grunted  and  began  collecting  his  tools, 
rescuing  the  best  hammer  he  had  from  one  of  the 
girls.  "  I  wisht  it  was  all  profit,"  he  said.  "  Or 
even  a  quarter  of  it.  I'm  sellin'  'em  close  as  I  can 
an'  git  paid  fer  my  time  puttin'  'em  on." 

"  Oh,  I  ain't  kickin'  about  the  price.  I'm  satis 
fied  with  that."  Men  usually  are,  you  notice,  when 
they  want  credit.  "  Now  I  tell  yuh.  I  ain't  got 
that  much  money  with  me  — " 

Casey  spat  and  pointed  his  thumb  toward  a  sign 
which  he  had  nailed  up  just  the  day  before,  thinking 
that  it  would  save  both  himself  and  his  customers 


CASEY  RYAN  99 

some  embarrassment.     The  sign,  except  that  the  let 
ters  were  not  even,  was  like  this : 

"  CHECKS  MUST  BE  CASHED 

BY  THE  ONER 
OR  THEY.  AIN'T  CASHED" 

The  lean  man  read  and  looked  at  Casey  humbly. 
"  Well,  I  ain't  never  wrote  a  check  in  my  life.  Now 
I  tell  yuh.  I  ain't  got  the  money  to  pay  for  these 
tires,  but  I  tell  yuh  what  I'll  do;  I'm  goin'  on  up 
to  my  brother  —  he's  got  a  prune  orchard  a  little 
ways  out  from  San  Jose,  an'  he's  well  fixed.  Now 
I'll  write  out  an  order  on  my  brother,  fer  him  to 
send  you  the  money.  He's  good  fer  it,  an'  he'll  do 
it.  I'm  goin'  on  up  to  help  him  work  his  place  on 
shares,  so  I  c'n  straighten  up  with  him  when  I 
get  —  " 

Casey  had  picked  up  the  jack  again  and  was  re 
gretfully  but  firmly  adjusting  it  under  the  front 
axle.  "  That  ain't  the  first  good  prospect  I  ever  had 
pinch  out  on  me,"  he  observed,  trying  to  be  cheerful 
over  it.  He  could  even  grin  while  he  squinted  up 
at  the  lean  man. 

"  Well,  now,  you  can't  hardly  refuse  to  trust  a 
man  in  my  fix !  " 

"  Think  I  can't  ?  "  Casey  was  working  the  jack 
handle  rapidly  and  the  words  came  in  jerks.  "  You 
stand  there  and  watch  me."  He  spun  the  wheel  free 
and  reached  for  his  socket  wrench.  "  I  wisht  you'd 


ioo  CASEY  RYAN 

spoke  your  piece  before  I  set  these  darn  nuts  so 
tight,"  he  added. 

The  lean  man  turned  and  looked  inquiringly  at  his 
wife.  "  Ain't  I  honest,  maw,  and  don't  I  pay  my 
debts?  An'  ain't  my  brother  Joe  honest,  an'  don't 
he  pay  his  debts  ?  Would  you  think  the  man  lived, 
maw,  that  would  set  a  man  with  a  fambly  afoot 
out  on  the  desert  like  this  ?  " 

"  Nev'  mind,  now,  paw.  Give  him  time  to  think 
what  it  means,  an'  he  won't.  He's  got  a  heart." 

The  baby  awoke  and  cried  then,  and  Casey's 
heart  squirmed  in  his  chest.  But  he  thought  of  Bill 
and  stiffened  his  business  nerve. 

"  I  got  a  heart ;  sure  I've  got  a  heart.  You  ask 
anybody  if  Casey's  got  a  heart.  But  I  also  got  a 
pardner." 

"  Your  pardner's  likely  gen'l'man  enough  to  trust 
us,  if  you  ain't,"  maw  said  sharply. 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  he  is.  But  he's  got  these  tires  to 
pay  fer  on  the  first  of  the  month.  It  ain't  a  case 
uh  not  trustin' ;  it's  a  case  of  git  the  money  or  keep 
the  tires.  I  wisht  you  had  the  money  —  she  shore  is 
a  good  bunch  uh  rubber  I  let  yuh  try  on." 

They  wrangled  with  him  while  he  removed  the 
tires  he  had  so  painstakingly  adjusted,  but  Casey 
was  firm.  He  had  to  be.  There  is  no  heart  in  the 
rubber  trust;  merely  a  business  office  that  employs 
very  efficient  bookkeepers,  who  are  paid  to  see  that 
others  pay.  He  removed  the  new  tires ;  that  was  his 
duty  to  Bill.  By  then  it  was  five  o'clock  when  all 
good  mechanics  throw  down  their  pliers  and  begin 
to  shed  their  coveralls. 


CASEY  RYAN  101 

Casey  was  his  own  man  after  five  o'clock.  He 
rolled  the  tattered  tires  out  into  the  sunlight,  let 
out  the  air  and  yanked  them  from  their  rims. 
"  Come  on  here  and  help,  and  I'll  patch  up  your  old 
tires  so  you  c'n  go  on,"  he  offered  good-naturedly, 
in  spite  of  the  things  the  woman  had  said  to  him. 
"  The  tire  don't  live  that  Casey  can't  patch  if  it 
comes  to  a  showdown." 

Before  he  was  through  with  them  he  had  donated 
four  blow-out  patches  to  the  cause,  and  about  five 
hours  of  hard  labor.  The  Smith  family  —  yes, 
they  were  of  the  tribe  of  Smith  —  were  camped  out 
side  and  quarreling  incessantly.  The  goats,  held  in 
spasmodic  restraint  by  Humbolt  and  Greeley  and  a 
little  spotted  dog  which  Casey  had  overlooked  in  his 
first  inventory,  were  blatting  inconsequently  in  the 
sage  behind  the  garage.  Casey  cooked  a  belated 
supper  and  hoped  that  the  outfit  would  get  an  early 
start,  and  that  their  tires  would  hold  until  they 
reached  Ludlow,  at  least.  "  Though  I  ain't  got 
nothin'  against  Ludlow,"  he  added  to  himself  while 
he  poured  his  coffee. 

"  Maw  wants  to  know  if  you  got  any  coffee  you 
kin  lend,"  the  shrill  voice  of  Portia  sounded  unex 
pectedly  at  his  elbow.  Casey  jumped, —  an  indica 
tion  that  his  nerves  had  been  unstrung. 

"Lend?  Hunh!  Tell  'er  I  give  her  a  cupful." 
Then,  because  Casey  had  streaks  of  wisdom,  he 
closed  the  doors  of  the  garage  and  locked  them  from 
the  inside.  Cars  might  come  and  honk  as  long  as 
they  liked ;  Casey  was  going  to  have  his  sleep. 

Very  early  he  was  awakened  by  the  bleating,  the 


102  CASEY  RYAN 

barking,  the  crying  and  the  wrangling  of  the  Smiths. 
He  pulled  his  tarp  over  his  ears,  hot  as  it  was,  to 
shut  out  the  sound.  After  a  long  while  he  heard 
the  stutter  of  the  truck  motor  getting  wanned  up. 
There  was  a  clamor  of  voices,  a  bleating  of  goats, 
the  barking  of  the  spotted  dog,  and  the  truck  moved 
off. 

"  Thank  Gawd ! "  muttered  Casey,  and  went  to 
sleep  again. 


CHAPTER  XI 

At  two  o'clock  the  next  afternoon,  the  Smith  out 
fit  came  back,  limping  along  on  three  bare  rims, 
Casey's  jaw  dropped  a  little  when  he  saw  them  com 
ing,  but  nature  had  made  him  an  optimist.  Now, 
perhaps,  that  hungry-looking  Smith  would  dig  into 
his  pocket  and  find  the  price  of  new  tires.  It  had 
been  Casey's  experience  that  a  man  who  protested  the 
loudest  that  he  was  broke  would,  if  held  rigidly  to 
the  no-credit  rule,  find  the  money  to  pay  for  what  he 
must  have.  In  his  heart  he  believed  that  Smith  had 
money  dangling  somewhere  in  close  proximity  to 
his  lank  person. 

But  if  Smith  had  any  money  he  did  not  betray  the 
fact.  He  asked  quite  humbly  for  the  loan  of  tools, 
and  tube  cement,  and  more  blow-out  patches,  and 
set  awkwardly  to  work  mending  his  tattered  tires. 
And  once  more  Casey  sent  Juan  to  borrow  the  Oasis 
tub,  and  watered  the  goats  and  picked  his  way 
amongst  the  Smith  offsprings  and  pretended  to  be 
deaf  half  of  the  time,  and  said  he  didn't  know  the 
other  half.  His  green  glass  water  pitcher  was 
practically  useless  to  travelers,  and  Juan  was  worse. 
A  goat  got  away  from  Humbolt  and  Greeley  and 
went  exploring  in  the  corner  of  the  garage  where 


104  CASEY  RYAN 

Casey  lived,  and  ate  three  pounds  of  bacon.  You 
know  what  bacon  costs.  Maw  Smith  became  ac 
quainted  with  Casey  and  followed  him  about  with  a 
detailed  recital  of  her  family  history,  which  she 
thought  would  make  a  real  exciting  book.  What 
Casey  thought  I  must  not  tell  you. 

That  night  Casey  patched  tires  and  tubes.  He 
had  to,  you  see,  or  go  crazy.  Next  morning  he  lis 
tened  to  the  departure  of  the  Smith  family  and  the 
Smith  goats,  and  prayed  that  their  tires  would  hold 
out  even  as  far  as  Bagdad, —  though  I  don't  see 
why,  since  there  was  no  garage  in  Bagdad,  or  any 
thing  else  but  a  flag  station. 

That  afternoon  at  three  o'clock,  they  came  back 
again !  And  Casey  neglected  to  send  Juan  after  the 
tub  to  water  the  goats.  Wherefore  paw  sent  Hum- 
bolt,  and  watered  the  goats  himself  from  Casey's 
barrel  and  seemed  peevish  because  he  must.  Maw 
Smith  came  after  coffee  again,  and  helped  herself 
with  no  more  formality  than  a  shrill,  "I'm  berry 
ing  some  more  coffee ! "  sent  to  Casey  out  in 
front. 

That  night  Casey  patched  tires  and  tubes. 

At  six  o'clock  Smith  pounded  on  the  back  door 
and  called  in  to  Casey  that  he  would  have  to  have 
some  gas  before  he  started.  So  Casey  pulled  on  his 
pants  and  gave  Smith  some  gas,  and  paid  the  garage 
out  of  his  own  pocket.  He  didn't  swear,  either. 
He  was  past  that. 

That  afternoon  Casey  watched  apprehensively  the 
road  that  led  west.  It  was  two-thirty  when  he  saw 
them  coming.  Casey  set  his  jaw  and  went  in  and 


CASEY  RYAN  105 

hid  every  blow-out  patch  he  had  in  stock,  and  all  the 
cement. 

Smith  went  into  camp,  sent  Greeley  after  the 
Oasis  tub  and  watered  the  goats  from  one  of  Casey's 
water  barrels.  Casey  went  on  with  his  work,  wait 
ing  upon  customers  who  paid,  and  tried  not  to  think 
of  the  Smiths,  although  most  of  them  were  under 
foot  or  at  his  elbow. 

"  Them  tires  you  mended  ain't  worth  a  cuss," 
Smith  came  around  finally  to  complain.  "  I  didn't 
get  ten  mile  out  with  'em  before  I  had  another  blow 
out.  I  tell  yuh  what  I'll  do.  I'll  trade  yuh  goats 
fer  tires.  I  got  two  milk  goats  that's  worth  a  hun 
dred  dollars  apiece,  mebby  more,  the  way  goats  is 
selling  on  the  Coast.  I  hate  to  part  with  'em,  but  I 
gotta  do  somethin'.  Er  else  you'll  have  to  trust  me 
till  I  c'n  get  to  my  brother  an'  git  the  money.  It 
ain't,"  he  added  grievedly,  "  as  if  I  wasn't  honest 
enough  to  pay  my  debts." 

"  Nope,"  said  Casey  wearily,  "  I  don't  want  yer 
goats.  I've  had  more  goats  a'ready  than  I  want. 
And  tires  has  gotta  roll  outa  this  shop  paid  for.  We 
talked  that  all  over,  the  first  night." 

"  What  am  I  goin'  to  do,  then  ?  "  Smith  inquired 
in  exasperation. 

"Hell;  I  dunno,"  Casey  returned  grimly.  "I 
quit  guessin'  day  before  yesterday." 

Smith  went  off  to  confer  with  maw,  and  Casey 
overheard  some  very  harsh  statements  made  con 
cerning  himself.  Maw  Smith  was  so  offended  that 
she  refused  to  borrow  coffee  from  Casey  that  night, 
and  she  called  her  children  out  of  his  garage  and 


106  CASEY  RYAN 

told  them  she  would  warm  their  ears  for  them  if 
they  went  near  him  again.  Hearing  which  Casey's 
features  relaxed  a  little.  He  could  even  meet  cus 
tomers  with  his  accustomed  grin  when  Smith  in  his 
anger  sent  the  goats  over  to  the  water  tank  next  day, 
refusing  to  show  any  friendship  for  Casey  by  empty 
ing  a  water  barrel  for  him.  But  he  had  to  fire  Juan 
for  pouring  gasoline  into  the  radiator  of  a  big  sedan, 
and  later  he  had  to  stalk  that  lovesick  youth  into  the 
very  camp  of  the  Smiths  and  lead  him  back  by  the 
collar,  and  search  him  for  stolen  tools.  He  recov 
ered  twice  as  many  as  you  would  believe  a  Mexican's 
few  garments  could  conceal. 

Casey  was  harassed  for  two  days  by  the  loud 
proximity  of  the  Smiths,  but  not  one  of  them  deigned 
to  speak  to  him  or  to  show  any  liking  for  him  what 
ever,  beyond  helping  themselves  superciliously  to  the 
contents  of  his  water  barrel.  On  the  morning  of 
the  third  day  the  lean  man  presented  his  thin  shadow 
and  then  himself  at  the  front  door  of  the  garage, 
with  a  letter  in  his  hand  and  a  hopeful  look  on  his 
face. 

"  Well,  mebby  I  c'n  talk  business  to  yuh  now  an' 
have  somethin'  to  go  on,"  he  began  abruptly.  "  I 
went  an'  sent  off  a  telegraft  to  my  brother  in  San 
Jose  about  you,  and  he's  wrote  a  letter  to  yuh.  My 
brother's  a  business  man.  You  c'n  see  that  much  fer 
yourself.  An'  mebby  you'll  see  your  way  clear  t' 
help  me  leave  this  dod-rotten  hole.  Here's  yer  let 
ter." 

Casey  held  himself  neutral  while  he  read  the  let 
ter.  As  it  happens  that  I  have  a  copy,  here  it  is : 


CASEY  RYAN  107 

(Printed  Letterhead) 

VISTA  GRANDE  RANCHO 

Smith  Bros. 

San  Jose,  Calif. 
Garage  Owner,  Patmos,  Calif. 

DEAR  SIR  :  I  am  informed  that  my  brother  Eld- 
reth  William  Smith,  having  suffered  the  mishap  to 
lose  his  tires  at  your  place  or  thereabouts,  and  hav 
ing  the  misfortune  to  fall  short  of  immediate  funds 
with  which  to  pay  cash  for  replacement,  has  been 
denied  credit  at  your  hands. 

I  regret  that  because  of  business  requirements  in 
my  own  business  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  place 
the  amount  necessary  at  his  immediate  disposal.  It 
is  therefore  my  advise  that  you  lend  to  my  brother 
Eldreth  William  Smith  such  money  or  moneys  as 
will  be  necessary  to  purchase  railroad  tickets  for 
himself  and  family  from  Patmos  to  this  place,  and 

Furthermore  that  you  take  as  security  for  said 
loan  such  motor  truck  and  equipment  etc.  as  he  has 
now  stored  at  your  place  of  business.  I  am  aware 
of  the  fact  that  a  motor  truck  in  any  running  condi 
tion  would  amply  secure  such  loans  as  would  pur 
chase  tickets  from  Patmos  to  San  Jose,  and  I  hereby 
enclose  note  for  same,  duly  made  out  in  blank  and 
signed  by  me,  which  signature  will  be  backed  by  the 
signature  of  my  brother.  Upon  receiving  from  you 
such  money  as  he  may  require  he  will  duly  deliver 
note  and  security  duly  signed  and  filled  with  the 
amount.  I  trust  this  will  be  perfectly  satisfactory 
to  you  as  amply  securing  you  for  the  loan  of  the 
desired  amount. 

Thanking  you  in  advance, 

Yours  very  Truly, 

J.  PAUL  SMITH. 


io8  CASEY  RYAN 

In  spite  of  himself,  Casey  was  impressed.  The 
very  Spanish  name  of  the  prune  orchard  impressed 
him,  and  so  did  the  formal  business  terms  used  by 
J.  Paul  Smith ;  and  that  "  thanking  you  in  advance  " 
seemed  to  place  him  under  a  moral  obligation  too 
great  to  shirk.  There  was  the  note,  too, —  heavy 
green  paper  with  a  stag's  head  printed  on  it,  and 
looking  almost  like  a  check. 

"  Well,  all  right,  if  it  don't  cost  too  much  and  the 
time  don't  run  too  long,"  surrendered  Casey  re 
luctantly.  "  How  much  — " 

"  Fare's  a  little  over  twenty-five  dollars,  an'  they'll 
be  four  full  fares  an'  three  half.  I  guess  mebby  I 
better  have  a  hundred  an'  seventy-five  anyway,  so'st 
we  kin  eat  on  the  way." 

Casey  chanced  to  have  almost  that  much  coming 
to  him  out  of  the  business,  so  that  he  would  not  be 
lending  Bill's  money.  He  watched  the  lean  Smith 
fill  in  the  amount  and  sign  the  note,  identifying  the 
truck  by  its  engine  and  license  numbers,  and  he  went 
and  borrowed  fifteen  dollars  from  the  proprietor  of 
the  Oasis  and  made  up  the  amount.  There  was  a 
train  at  noon,  and  from  his  garage  door  he  watched 
the  Smith  family  start  off  across  the  lava  rocks  to 
the  depot,  each  one  laden  with  bundles  and  dis 
reputable  grips,  the  spotted  dog  trotting  optimisti- 
ically  ahead  of  the  party  with  his  pink  tongue  draped 
over  the  right  side  of  his  mouth.  Smith  turned, 
the  baby  in  his  arms,  and  called  back  casually  to 
Casey : 

"  Yuh  better  tie  up  them  two  milk  goats  when 
yuh  milk  'em.  They  won't  stand  if  yuh  don't." 


CASEY  RYAN  109 

Casey's  jaw  sagged.  He  had  not  thought  of  the 
goats.  Indeed,  the  last  two  days  they  had  not 
troubled  him  except  by  their  bleating  at  dawn. 
Humbolt  and  Greeley  had  grazed  them  over  by  the 
railroad  track  so  that  they  could  watch  the  trains 
go  by.  Casey  looked  and  saw  that  the  goats  were 
still  over  there  where  they  had  been  driven  early. 
He  took  off  his  hat  and  rubbed  his  palm  reflectively 
over  the  back  of  his  head,  set  the  hat  on  his  head 
with  a  pronounced  tilt  over  one  eyebrow,  and 
reached  for  his  plug  of  tobacco. 

"Oh,  darn  the  goats !  Me  milkin'  goats !  Well, 
now,  Casey  Ryan  never  milked  no  goats,  an'  he  ain't 
goin'  to  milk  no  goats!  You  can  ask  anybody  if 
they  think't  he  will." 

Casey  was  very  busy  that  day,  and  he  had  no  dull- 
eyed  Juan  to  do  certain  menial  tasks  about  the  cars 
that  stopped  before  his  garage.  Nevertheless  he 
kept  an  eye  on  the  station  of  Patmos  until  the  west 
bound  train  had  come  and  had  departed,  and  on  the 
rough  road  between  the  railroad  and  the  garage  for 
another  half  hour,  until  he  was  sure  that  the  Smith 
family  were  not  coming  back.  Then  he  went  more 
cheerfully  about  his  work,  now  and  then  glancing, 
perhaps,  at  the  truck  which  had  been  driven  into  the 
rear  of  the  garage  where  it  was  very  much  in  his 
way,  but  was  safe  from  pilfering  fingers.  It  was 
not  such  a  bad  truck,  give  it  new  tires.  Casey  had 
already  figured  the  price  at  which  he  could  probably 
sell  it,  on  an  easy  payment  plan,  to  the  man  who 
hauled  water  for  Patmos.  It  was  more  than  the 
amount  of  his  loan,  naturally.  By  noon  he  was 


no  CASEY  RYAN 

rather  hoping  the  "  Smith  Bros."  would  fail  to  take 
up  that  note. 

Casey,  you  see,  was  not  counting  the  goats  at  all. 
He  had  a  vague  idea  that,  while  they  were  nominally 
a  part  of  the  security,  they  were  actually  of  no  im 
portance  whatever.  They  would  run  loose  until 
Smith  came  after  them,  he  guessed.  He  did  not 
intend  to  milk  any  nanny  goats,  so  that  settled  the 
goat  question  for  Casey. 

Casey  simply  did  not  know  anything  about  goats. 
He  ought  to  have  used  a  little  logic  and  not  so  much 
happy-go-lucky  "  t'ell  with  the  goats."  That  is  all 
very  well,  so  far  as  it  goes,  and  we  all  know  that 
everybody  says  it  and  thinks  it.  But  it  does  not 
settle  the  problem.  It  never  occurred  to  Casey,  for 
instance,  that  the  going  of  Humbolt  and  Greeley  and 
the  little  spotted  dog  would  make  any  difference. 
It  really  did  make  a  great  deal,  you  see.  And  it 
never  occurred  to  Casey  that  goats  are  domesti 
cated  animals  after  they  have  been  hauled  around 
the  country  for  weeks  and  weeks  in  a  trailer  to  a 
truck,  or  that  they  will  come  back  to  the  only  home 
they  know. 

I  don't  know  how  long  it  takes  goats  to  fill  up.  I 
never  kept  a  goat  or  goats.  And  I  don't  know  how 
long  they  will  stand  around  and  blat  before  they 
start  something.  I  don't  know  much  more  about 
goats  than  Casey,  or  didn't,  at  least,  until  he  told 
me.  By  that  time  Casey  knew  a  lot  more,  I  suspect, 
than  he  could  put  into  words. 

Casey  says  that  he  heard  them  blatting  around 
outside,  but  he  was  busy  trying  to  straighten  a 


CASEY  RYAN  in 

radius  rod  —  Casey  said  he  was  taking  the  kinks 
outa  that  hootin'-annie  that  goes  behind  the  front 
ex  and  turns  the  dingbats  when  you  steer  —  for  a 
man  who  walked  back  and  forth  and  slapped  his 
hands  together  nervously  and  kept  asking  how  long 
it  was  going  to  take,  and  how  far  it  was  to  Barstow, 
and  whether  the  road  from  there  up  across  the 
Mojave  was  in  good  condition,  and  whether  the 
Death  Valley  road  out  from  Ludlow  went  clear 
through  the  valley  and  was  a  cut-off  north,  or 
whether  it  just  went  into  the  valley  and  stopped. 
Casey  says  that  the  only  time  he  ever  was  in  Death 
Valley  it  was  with  a  couple  of  burros  and  that  he 
like  to  have  stayed  there.  He  got  to  telling  the  man 
about  his  trip  into  Death  Valley  and  how  he  just 
did  get  out  by  a  scratch. 

So  he  didn't  pay  any  attention  to  the  goats  until 
he  went  back  after  some  cold  water  for  the  white 
little  woman  in  the  car,  that  looked  all  tuckered  out 
and  scared.  It  was  then  he  found  the  whole  corner 
chewed  off  one  water  bag  and  the  other  water  bag 
on  the  ground  and  a  lot  more  than  the  corner  gone. 
And  the  billy  was  up  on  his  hind  feet  with  his  horns 
caught  in  the  fullest  barrel,  and  was  snorting  and 
snuffling  in  a  drowning  condition  and  tilting  the 
barrel  perilously.  The  other  goats  were  acting  just 
like  plain  damn  goats,  said  Casey,  and  merely  look 
ing  for  trouble  without  having  found  any. 

Casey  says  he  had  to  call  the  Oasis  man  to  help 
him  get  Billy  out  of  the  barrel,  and  that  even  then 
he  had  to  borrow  a  saw  and  saw  off  one  horn  — 
either  that,  or  cave  in  the  barrel  with  Maud  —  and 


H2  CASEY  RYAN 

he  needed  that  barrel  worse  than  the  billy  goat 
needed  two  horns;  but  he  told  me  that  if  he'd  had 
Maud  in  his  two  hands  just  then  he  sure  would  have 
caved  in  the  goat. 

At  that,  the  nervous  man  got  away  without  paying 
Casey,  which  I  think  rankled  worse  than  a  spoiled 
barrel  of  water. 

Casey  told  me  that  he  aged  ten  years  in  the  next 
two  weeks,  and  lost  eighty-nine  dollars  and  a  half 
in  damages  and  wages,  not  counting  the  two  water 
bags  he  had  to  replace  out  of  his  stock,  at  nearly  four 
dollars  wholesale  price.  When  he  chased  the  goats 
out  of  his  back  door  they  went  around  and  came  in 
at  the  front,  determined,  he  supposed,  to  bed  down 
near  the  truck. 

It  was  late  before  that  occurred  to  him,  and  when 
it  did  he  cranked  up  and  drove  the  truck  a  hundred 
yards  down  the  road  that  led  to  the  spring.  The 
goats  did  not  follow  as  he  expected,  but  stood  around 
the  trailer  and  blatted.  Casey  went  back  and 
hooked  on  the  trailer  and  drove  again  down  the  road. 
The  goats  would  not  follow,  and  he  went  back  to 
find  that  Billy  had  managed  to  push  open  the  back 
door  and  had  led  his  flock  into  Casey's  kitchen. 
There  was  no  kitchen  left  but  the  little  camp  stove, 
and  that  was  bent  so  that  it  stood  skew-gee,  Casey 
said,  and  developed  a  habit  of  toppling  over  just 
when  his  coffee  came  to  a  boil. 

Casey  told  me  that  he  had  to  barricade  himself  in 
his  garage  that  night,  and  he  swore  that  Billy  stood 
on  his  hind  feet  and  stared  at  him  all  night  through 
the  window  in  spite  of  wrenches  and  pliers  hailing 


CASEY  RYAN  113 

out  upon  him.  However  that  may  be,  Billy  couldn't 
have  stood  there  all  night,  unless  Casey  got  his  dates 
mixed.  For  at  six  o'clock  the  Oasis  man  came  over, 
stepping  high  and  swinging  his  fists,  and  told  Casey 
that  them  damn  goats  had  et  all  the  bedding  out  of 
one  tent  and  the  soap,  towel  and  one  pillow  out  of 
another,  and  what  was  Casey  going  to  do  about  it  ? 

Casey  did  not  know, —  and  he  was  famous  for  his 
resourcefulness  too.  I  think  he  paid  for  the  bedding 
before  the  thing  was  settled. 

Casey  says  that  after  that  it  was  just  one  thing 
after  another.  He  told  me  that  he  never  would 
have  believed  twelve  goats  could  cover  so  much 
cussedness  in  a  day.  He  said  he  couldn't  fill  a  radia 
tor  but  some  goat  would  be  chewing  the  baggage  tied 
behind  the  car,  or  Billy  would  be  rooting  suitcases 
off  the  running  board.  One  party  fell  in  love  with 
a  baby  goat  and  Casey  in  a  moment  of  desperation 
told  them  they  could  have  it.  But  he  was  sorry 
afterward,  because  the  mother  stood  and  blatted  at 
him  reproachfully  for  four  days  and  nights  without 
stopping. 

Casey  swears  that  he  picked  up  and  threw  two 
tons  of  rocks  every  day,  and  he  has  no  idea  how 
many  tons  the  six  families  of  Patmos  heaved  at  and 
after  the  goats.  When  they  weren't  going  headfirst 
into  barrels  of  water  they  were  chewing  something 
not  meant  to  be  chewed.  Casey  asserts  that  it  is  all 
a  bluff  about  goats  eating  tin  cans.  They  don't. 
He  says  they  never  touched  a  can  all  the  while  he 
had  them.  He  says  devastated  Patmos  wished  they 
would,  and  leave  the  two-dollar  lace  curtains  alone, 


H4  CASEY  RYAN 

and  clotheslines  and  water  barrels  and  baggage. 
He  says  many  a  party  drove  off  with  chewed  bed 
ding  rolls  and  didn't  know  it,  and  that  he  didn't  tell 
them,  either. 

You're  thinking  about  Juan,,  I  know.  Well, 
Casey  thought  of  Juan  the  first  day,  and  took  the 
trouble  to  hunt  him  up  and  hire  him  to  herd  the 
goats.  But  Juan  developed  a  bad  case  of  sleeping 
sickness,  Casey  says,  which  unfortunately  was  not 
contagious  to  goats.  He  swears  that  he  never  saw 
one  of  those  goats  lying  down,  though  he  had  seen 
pictures  of  goats  lying  down  and  had  a  vague  idea 
that  they  chewed  their  cuds.  Casey  tried  to  be 
funny,  then.  He  looked  at  me  and  grinned,  and 
observed,  "  Hunh!  Goats  don't  chew  cuds.  That's 
all  wrong.  They  chew  duds.  You  ask  anybody  in 
Patmos."  So  Juan  slept  under  sagebushes  and 
grease-wood,  and  the  goats  did  not. 

Casey  declares  that  he  stood  it  for  two  weeks,  and 
that  it  took  all  he  could  make  in  the  garage  to  pay 
the  six  families  of  Patmos  for  the  damage  wrought 
by  his  security.  He  lost  fifteen  pounds  of  flesh  and 
every  friend  he  had  made  in  the  place  except  the  man 
who  hauled  water,  and  he  liked  it  because  he  was 
getting  rich.  Once  Casey  had  a  bright  idea,  and 
with  much  labor  and  language  he  loaded  the  goats 
into  the  trailer  and  had  the  water-hauler  take  them 
out  to  the  hills.  But  that  didn't  work  at  all.  Part 
of  the  flock  came  back  afoot,  from  sheer  homesick 
ness,  and  the  rest  were  hauled  back  because  they 
were  ruining  the  spring  which  was  Patmos'  sole 
water  supply. 


CASEY  RYAN  115 

Casey  would  have  shot  the  goats,  but  he  couldn't 
bring  himself  to  do  anything  that  would  offend  J. 
Paul  Smith  of  the  Vista  Grande  Rancho.  When 
ever  he  read  the  letter  J.  Paul  Smith  had  written  him 
he  was  ashamed  to  do  anything  that  would  lower 
him  in  the  estimation  of  J.  Paul  Smith,  who  trusted 
him  and  took  it  for  granted  that  he  would  do  the 
right  thing  and  do  it  with  enthusiasm. 

"If  he  hadn't  wrote  so  dog-gone  polite!  "  Casey 
complained  to  me.  "  And  if  he  hadn't  went  an'  took 
it  for  granted  I'd  come  through.  But  a  man  can't 
turn  down  a  feller  that  wrote  the  way  he  done. 
Look  at  that  letter!  A  college  perfessor  couldn't 
uh  throwed  together  no  better  letter  than  that.  And 
that  there  '  Thanking  you  in  advance ' —  a  feller 
can't  throw  a  man  down  when  he  writes  that  way. 
You  ask  anybody."  Casey's  tone  was  one  of  rem 
iniscent  injury,  as  if  J.  Paul  Smith  had  indeed  taken 
a  mean  advantage  of  him. 

One  day  Casey  reached  the  limit  of  his  endur 
ance, —  or  perhaps  of  the  endurance  of  Patmos. 
There  were  not  enough  male  residents  to  form  a 
mob  strong  enough  to  lynch  Casey,  but  there  was 
one  woman  who  had  lost  a  sofa  pillow  and  two  lace 
curtains;  Casey  did  not  say  much  about  her,  but  I 
gathered  that  he  would  as  soon  be  lynched  as  re 
monstrated  with  again  by  that  woman.  "  Sufferin' 
Sunday!  I'd  shore  hate  to  be  her  husband.  You 
ask  anybody!"  sighed  Casey  when  he  was  telling 
me. 

Casey  moralized  a  little.  "  Folks  used  to  look  at 
the  goats  that  I'd  maybe  just  hazed  off  into  the 


n6  CASEY  RYAN 

brush  fifty  yards  or  so  with  a  thousand  pounds 
mebby  of  rocks,  an'  some  woman  in  goggles  would 
say,  '  Oh,  an'  you  keep  goats !  How  nice ! '  like  as 
if  it  were  something  peaceful  an'  homelike  to  keep 
goats!  Hunh!  Lemme  tell  yuh;  never  drive  past 
a  place  that  looks  peaceful,  and  jump  at  the  idea  it 
is  peaceful.  They  may  be  a  woman  behind  them 
vines  poisinin'  'er  husband's  father.  How  could 
them  darn  tourists  tell  what  was  goin'  on  in  Patmos  ? 
They  seen  the  goats  pertendin'  to  graze,  an'  keepin' 
an  eye  peeled  till  my  back  was  turned,  an'  they 
thought  it  was  nice  to  keep  goats.  Hunh!  " 

At  last  Casey  could  bear  no  more.  He  gathered 
together  enough  hardwood,  three-inch  crate  slats  to 
make  twelve  crates,  and  he  worked  for  three  nights, 
making  them.  And  Casey  is  no  carpenter.  After 
that  he  worked  for  three  days,  with  all  the  men  in 
Patmos  to  help  him,  getting  the  goats  into  the  crates 
and  loaded  on  the  truck.  Then  he  drove  over  to 
the  station  and  asked  for  tags,  and  addressed  the 
crates  to  J.  Paul  Smith,  Vista  Grande  Rancho,  San 
Jose,  Calif.  Then  he  discovered  that  he  could  not 
send  them  except  by  express,  and  that  he  could  not 
send  them  by  express  unless  he  prepaid  the  charges. 
And  the  charges  on  goats  sent  by  express,  was,  as 
Casey  put  it,  a  holy  fright. 

But  he  had  to  do  it.  Patmos  had  been  led  to 
believe  that  he  would  send  those  goats  off  on  the 
train,  and  Casey  did  not  know  what  would  happen 
if  he  failed.  There  were  the  heads  of  the  six  fam 
ilies,  and  all  the  children  who  were  of  walking  age, 
grouped  around  the  crates  and  Casey  expectantly. 


CASEY  RYAN  117 

Casey  went  back  to  the  garage  safe  and  got  what 
money  he  had,  borrowed  the  balance  from  the  male 
citizens  of  Patmos  and  prepaid  the  express.  Pat- 
mos  helped  to  load  them  into  the  first  express  car 
going  west,  and  Casey  felt,  he  said,  as  if  some  one 
had  handed  him  a  million  dollars  in  dimes. 

Casey  seemed  to  think  that  ended  the  story,  but  I 
am  like  the  rest  of  you.  I  wanted  to  know  what  the 
Smith  family  did,  and  J.  Paul  Smith,  and  whether 
Casey  kept  the  truck  and  sold  it  to  the  man  who 
hauled  water. 

"Who?  Me?  Say!  D'you  ever  know  Casey 
Ryan  to  ever  come  out  anywheres  but  at  the  little 
end  uh  the  horn  ?  Ain't  I  the  bag  holder  pro  tern  ?  " 
I  don't  know  what  he  meant  by  that.  I  think  he 
was  mistaken  in  the  meaning  of  "  pro  tern." 

"  You  ask  anybody.  Say,  I  got  a  letter  sayin' 
in  a  gen'ral  way  that  I'm  a  thief  an'  a  cutthroat  an' 
a  profiteer  an'  so  on,  an'  that  I  would  have  to  pay 
fer  the  goat  that  was  missin' — that  there  was  the 
one  I  give  away  —  an'  that  the  damages  to  the  billy 
goat  was  worth  twenty-five  dollars  and  same  would 
be  deducted  from  the  amount  of  the  loan.  Darn 
these  fancy  word  slingers !  "  said  Casey.  "  An'  the 
day  before  the  note  come  due,  here  comes  that  shoe 
string  in  pants  with  the  money  to  pay  the  note  minus 
the  damages,  and  four  new  tires  fer  the  truck !  Yes- 
sir,  wouldn't  buy  tires  off  me,  even!  Could  yuh 
beat  that  fer  gall  ?  And  he  wouldn't  hardly  speak." 

Casey  grinned  and  got  his  plug  of  tobacco  and 
inspected  the  corners  absently  before  he  bit  into  it. 
"  But  I  got  even  with  'im,"  he  added.  "  I  laid  off 


n8  CASEY  RYAN 

till  he  got  his  tires  on  —  an'  I  wouldn't  lend  him  no 
tools  to  put  'em  on  with,  neither.  And  then  I  looked 
up  an'  down  the  road  an'  seen  there  was  no  dust 
comin'  an'  we  wouldn't  be  interrupted,  an'  I  went 
up  to  the  old  skunk  an'  I  says,  '  I  got  a  bill  to  colleck 
off  you.  Thankin'  you  in  advance!'  an'  then  I 
shore  collected.  You  ask  anybody  in  Patmos. 
Say,  I  bet  he  drove  by-guess-an'-by-gosh  to  the 
orange  belt,  anyway,  the  way  his  eyes  was  swellin' 
up  when  he  left !  " 

I  mentioned  his  promise  to  Bill,  that  he  would  not 
fight  a  customer.  Casey  spat  disgustedly.  "  Hell ! 
He  wasn't  no  customer!  Didn't  he  ship  his  rubber 
in  by  express,  ruther'n  to  buy  off  me?"  He 
grinned  retrospectively  and  looked  at  his  knuckles, 
one  of  which  showed  a  patch  of  new  skin,  pink  and 
yet  tender. 

"  '  Thankin'  you  in  advance ! '  that's  just  what  I 
told  Mm.  An'  I  shore  got  all  I  thanked  'im  for! 
You  ask  anybody  in  Patmos.  They  seen  'im  after 
wards." 


CHAPTER  XII 

"  Look  there !  "  Casey  rose  from  the  ground 
where  he  had  been  sitting  with  his  hands  clasped 
round  his  drawn-up  knees.  He  pointed  with  his 
pipe  to  a  mountain  side  twelve  miles  away  but  look 
ing  five,  even  in  the  gloom  of  early  dusk.  "  Look 
at  that,  will  yuh!  Whadda  yuh  say  that  is,  just 
makin'  a  guess  ?  A  fire,  mebby  ?  " 

"  Camp  fire.  Some  prospector  boiling  coffee  in 
a  dirty  lard  bucket,  maybe." 

Casey  snorted.  "  It's  a  darn  big  fire  to  boil  a 
pot  uh  coffee!  Recollect,  it's  twelve  miles  over  to 
that  mountain.  A  bonfire  a  mile  off  wouldn't  look 
any  bigger  than  that.  Would  it  now  ?  "  His  tone 
was  a  challenge  to  my  truthfulness. 

"  Wel-1,  I  guess  it  wouldn't,  come  to  think  of  it." 

"  Guess  ?  You  know  darn  well  it  wouldn't. 
You  watch  that  there  fire.  I  ain't  over  there  — 
but  if  that  ain't  the  devil's  lantern,  I'll  walk  on  my 
hands  from  here  over  there  an'  find  out  for  yuh." 

"  I'd  have  to  go  over  there  myself  to  discover 
whether  you're  right  or  wrong.  But  if  a  fellow 
can  trust  his  eyes,  Casey — " 

"  Well,  you  can't,"  Casey  said  grimly,  still  stand 
ing,  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  distant  light.  "  Not 
here  in  this  country,  you  can't.  You  ask  anybody. 
You  don't  trust  your  eyes  when  yuh  come  to  a  dry 


120  CASEY  RYAN 

lake  an'  you  see  water,  an'  the  bushes  around  the 
shore  reflected  in  the  water,  an'  mebby  a  boat  out 
in  the  middle.  Do  yuh?  You  don't  trust  your 
eyes  when  you  look  at  them  hills.  They  look  close 
enough  to  walk  over  to  'em  in  half  or  three  quarters 
of  an  hour.  Don't  they?  An'  didn't  I  take  yuh  in 
my  Ford  auty-wo-bile,  an'  wasn't  it  twelve?  An' 
d'yuh  trust  your  eyes  when  yuh  look  up,  an'  it  looks 
like  you  could  knock  stars  down  with  a  tent  pole, 
like  yuh  knock  apples  off'n  trees?  Sure,  you  can't 
trust  your  eyes!  When  yuh  hit  the  desert,  ole- 
timer,  yuh  pack  two  of  the  biggest  liars  on  earth 
right  under  your  eyebrows."  He  chuckled  at  that. 
"  An'  most  folks  pack  another  one  under  their  noses, 
fer  luck.  Now  lookit  over  there!  Prospector 
nothin'.  It's  the  devil  out  walkin'  an'  packin'  a 
lantern.  He's  mebby  found  some  shin  bones  an'  a 
rib  or  two  an'  mebby  a  chewed  boot,  an'  he  stopped 
there  to  have  his  little  laugh.  Lemme  tell  yuh. 
You  mark  where  that  fire  is.  An'  t'-morra,  if  yuh 
like,  I'll  take  yuh  over  there.  If  you  c'n  find  a 
track  er  embers  on  that  slope  —  Gawsh !  " 

We  both  stood  staring;  while  he  talked,  the  light 
had  blinked  out  like  snapping  an  electric  switch. 
And  that  was  strange  because  camp  fires  take  a  little 
time  in  the  dying.  I  stepped  inside  the  tent,  fumbled 
for  the  field  glasses  and  came  out,  adjusting  the  night 
focus.  Casey's  squat,  powerful  form  stood  per 
fectly  still  where  I  had  left  him,  his  face  turned  to 
ward  the  mountain.  There  was  no  fire  on  the  slope. 
Beyond,  hanging  black  in  the  sky,  a  thunder  cloud 
pillowed  up  toward  the  peak  of  the  mountain,  push- 


CASEY  RYAN  121 

ing  out  now  and  then  to  blot  a  star  from  the  purple. 
Now  and  then  a  white,  ragged  gash  cut  through,  but 
no  sound  reached  up  to  where  we  were  camped  on 
the  high  mesa  that  was  the  lap  of  Starvation  Moun 
tain.  I  will  explain  that  Casey  had  come  back  to 
Starvation  to  see  if  there  were  not  another  good  sil 
ver  claim  lying  loose  and  needing  a  location  monu 
ment.  We  faced  Tippipah  Range  twelve  miles 
away, —  and  to-night  the  fire  on  its  slope. 

"  Lightning  struck  a  yucca  over  there  and  burned 
it,  probably,"  I  hazarded,  seeking  the  spot  through 
the  glasses. 

"  Yeah  —  only  there  ain't  no  yuccas  on  that  slope. 
That's  a  limestone  ledge  formation  an'  there  ain't 
enough  soil  to  cover  up  a  t'rantler.  And  the  storm's 
over  back  of  the  Tippipahs  anyhow.  It  ain't  on 
'em." 

"  It's  burning  up  again  — " 

"  Hit  another  yucca,  mebby !  " 

"  It  looks  — "  I  adjusted  the  lenses  carefully 
" —  like  a  fire,  all  right.  There's  a  reddish  cast.  I 
ican't  see  any  flames,  exactly,  but  — "  I  suppose  I 
gave  a  gasp,  for  Casey  laughed  outright. 

"  No,  I  guess  yuh  can't.  Flames  don't  travel 
like  that  — huh?" 

The  light  had  moved  suddenly,  so  that  it  seemed 
to  jump  clean  away  from  the  field  of  vision  em 
braced  by  the  glasses.  I  had  a  little  trouble  in  pick 
ing  it  up  again.  I  had  to  take  down  the  glasses 
and  look;  and  then  I  left  them  down  and  watched 
the  light  with  my  naked,  lying  eyes.  They  did  lie ; 
they  must  have.  They  said  that  a  camp  fire  had 


122  CASEY  RYAN 

abruptly  picked  itself  up  bodily  and  was  slipping 
rapidly  as  a  speeding  automobile  up  a  bare  whit( 
slide  of  rock  so  steep  that  a  mountain  goat  woulc 
give  one  glance  and  hunt  up  an  easier  trail.  All  m) 
life  I  have  had  intimate  acquaintance  with  camf 
fires ;  I  have  eaten  with  them,  slept  with  them,  coaxec 
them  in  storm,  watched  them  from  afar.  I  though) 
I  knew  all  their  tricks,  all  their  treacheries.  I  hav( 
seen  apparently  cold  ashes  blow  red  quite  unex 
pectedly  and  fire  grass  and  bushes  and  go  racing 
away, —  I  have  fought  them  then  with  whatevei 
came  to  hand. 

I  admit  that  an  odd,  prickly  sensation  at  the  base 
of  my  scalp  annoyed  me  while  I  watched  this  fin 
race  up  the  slope  and  leave  no  red  trail  behind  it 
Then  it  disappeared,  blinked  out  again.  I  openec 
my  mouth  to  call  Casey's  attention  to  it  —  though  ] 
felt  that  he  was  watching  it  with  that  steady,  squint 
ing  stare  of  his  that  never  seems  to  wink  or  wavei 
for  a  second  —  but  there  it  was  again,  come  to  a 
stop  just  under  the  crest  of  the  mountain  where  the 
white  slide  was  topped  by  a  black  rim  capped  with 
bleak,  bare  rock  like  a  crude  skullcap  on  Tippipah 
The  fire  flared,  dimmed,  burned  bright  again,  as 
though  some  one  had  piled  on  dry  brush.  I  caughl 
up  the  glasses  and  watched  the  light  for  a  full 
minute.  They  were  good  glasses, — I  ought  to  have 
seen  the  flicker  of  flames;  but  I  did  not.  Just  the 
reddish  yellow  glow  and  no  more. 

"  Must  be  fox  fire,"  I  said,  feeling  impatient  be 
cause  that  did  not  satisfy  me  at  all,  but  having  no 
other  explanation  that  I  could  think  of  handy.  "  I've 


CASEY  RYAN  123 

seen  wonderful  exhibitions  of  it  in  low,  swampy 
ground  — 

Casey  spat  into  the  dark.  "  I  never  heard  of 
lobody  hoggin'  down,  up  there  on  Tippipah."  He 
:>ut  his  cold  pipe  in  his  mouth,  removed  it  and  ges- 
:ured  with  it  toward  the  light.  "  I've  seen  jack-o'- 
anterns  myself.  You  know  darn  well  that  ain't  it; 
lot  up  on  them  rocks,  dry  as  a  bone.  A  minute 
igo  you  said  it  was  lightnin'  burnin'  a  yucca.  Why 
ion't  yuh  come  out  in  the  open,  an'  say  you  don't 
know?  Mebby  you'll  come  closer  to  believin'  what 
[  told  yuh  about  that  devil's  lantern  I  follered.  He's 
.it  another  one  —  kinda  hopin'  we'll  be  fool  enough 
to  fall  for  it.  You  come  inside  where  yuh  can't 
watch  it.  That's  what  does  the  damage  —  watchin' 
ind  wonderin'  and  then  goin'  to  see.  I  bet  you 
tvanta  strike  out  right  now  and  see  just  what  it  is." 

I  didn't  admit  it,  but  Casey  had  guessed  exactly 
what  was  in  my  mind.  I  was  itching  with  curiosity 
and  trying  to  ignore  the  creepiness  of  it.  Casey 
went  into  the  tent  and  lighted  the  candle  and  pro 
ceeded  to  unlace  his  high  hiking  boots.  "  You  come 
on  in  and  go  to  bed.  Don't  yuh  pay  no  attention 
to  that  light  —  that's  what  the  Old  Boy  plays  for 
first,  every  time;  workin'  your  curiosity  up.  You 
ask  anybody.  He  played  me  fer  a  sucker  and  I  told 
yuh  about  it,  and  yuh  thought  Casey  was  stringin' 
yuh.  Well,  I  can  take  a  joke  from  the  devil  him 
self  and  never  let  out  a  yip  —  but  once  is  enough  for 
Casey!  I'm  goin'  to  bed.  Let  him  set  out  there 
and  hold  his  darn  lantern  and  be  damned ;  he  ain't 
going  to  make  nothin'  off'n  Casey  Ryan  this  time. 


124  CASEY  RYAN 

You  can  ask  anybody  if  Casey  Ryan  bites  twice  or 
the  same  hook." 

He  got  into  bed  and  turned  his  face  to  the  wal 
with  a  finality  I  could  not  ignore.  I  let  it  go  a 
that,  but  twice  I  got  up  and  went  outside  to  look 
.There  burned  the  light,  diabolically  like  a  signal  fir< 
on  the  peak,  where  no  fire  should  be.  I  began  t( 
seek  explanations,  but  the  best  of  them  were  vague 
Electricity  playing  a  prank  of  some  obscure  kind,— 
that  was  as  close  as  I  could  get  to  it,  and  even  tha 
did  not  satisfy  as  it  should  have  done,  perhaps  be 
cause  the  high,  barren  mesas  and  the  mountains  o 
bare  rocks  are  in  themselves  weird  and  sinister,  am 
commonplace  explanations  of  their  phenomena  seen 
out  of  place. 

The  land  is  empty  of  men,  emptier  still  of  habita 
tions.  There  are  not  many  animals,  even.  A  fev 
coyotes,  all  of  them  under  suspicion  of  having 
rabies;  venomous  things  such  as  tarantulas  and  cen 
tipedes,  scorpions,  rattlers,  hydrophobia  skunks 
Not  so  many  of  them  that  they  are  a  constant  men 
ace,  but  occasionally  to  be  reckoned  with.  Grea 
sprawling  dry  lakes  pminous  in  their  very  placidity 
dust  dry,  with  little  whirlwinds  scurrying  over  then 
and  mirages  that  lie  to  you  most  convincingly,  paint 
ing  water  where  there  is  only  clay  dust.  Watei 
that  is  hidden  deep  in  forbidding  canyons,  water  tha 
you  must  hunt  for  blindly  unless  you  have  been  tok 
where  it  comes  stealthily  out  from  some  crevice  ir 
the  rocks.  Indians  know  the  water  holes,  and  hav< 
told  the  white  men  with  whom  they  made  friends 
after  a  fashion  —  for  Casey  tells  me  he  never  kne\\ 


CASEY  RYAN  125 

a  red  man  who  was  essentially  noble  —  and  these 
have  told  others;  and  men  have  named  the  springs 
and  have  indicated  their  location  on  maps.  Other 
wise  the  land  is  dry,  parched  and  deadly  and  beauti 
ful,  and  men  have  died  terrible,  picturesque  deaths 
within  its  borders. 

I  was  thinking  of  that,  and  it  seemed  not  too  in 
congruous  that  the  devil  should  now  and  then  walk 
abroad  with  a  lantern  of  his  own  devising  to  make 
men  shrink  from  his  path.  But  Casey  says,  and  I 
think  he  means  it,  that  the  light  is  a  lure.  He  told 
me  a  weird  adventure  of  his  own  to  back  his  argu 
ment,  but  I  thought  he  was  inventing  most  of  it  as 
he  went  along.  Until  I  saw  that  light  on  Tippipah 
I  had  determined  to  let  his  romancing  go  in  at  one 
ear  if  it  must,  and  stop  there  without  running  out 
at  the  tips  of  my  fingers.  Casey  has  enough  un 
godly  adventures  that  are  true.  I  didn't  feel  called 
upon  to  repeat  his  Irish  inventions. 

But  now  I'm  going  to  tell  you.  If  you  can't  be 
lieve  it  I  shall  not  blame  you ;  but  Casey  swears  that 
it  is  all  true.  It's  worth  beginning  where  Casey 
did,  at  the  beginning.  And  that  goes  back  to  when 
he  was  driving  stage  in  the  Yellowstone. 

Casey  was  making  the  trip  out,  one  time,  and  he 
had  just  one  passenger  because  it  was  at  the  end 
of  the  season  and  there  had  been  a  week  of  nasty 
weather  that  had  driven  out  most  of  the  sightseers 
and  no  new  ones  were  coming  in.  This  man  was  a 
peevish,  egotistical  sort,  I  imagine;  at  any  rate  he 
did  a  lot  of  talking  about  himself  and  his  ill  luck, 
and  he  told  Casey  of  his  misfortunes  by  the  hour. 


126  CASEY  RYAN 

Casey  did  not  mind  that  much.  He  says  he  didn' 
listen  half  the  time.  But  finally  the  fellow  begar 
talking  of  the  wealth  that  is  wasted  on  folks  whc 
can't  use  it  properly  or  even  appreciate  the  good  for 
tune. 

To  illustrate  that  point  he  told  a  story  that  se 
Casey's  mind  to  seeing  visions.  The  man  told  abou 
an  old  Indian  who  lived  in  dirt  and  a  governmen 
blanket  and  drank  bad  whisky  when  he  could  ge 
it,  and  whipped  his  squaw  and  behaved  exactly  lik< 
other  Indians.  Yet  that  old  Indian  knew  when 
gold  lay  so  thick  that  he  could  pick  out  pieces  o: 
crumbly  rock  all  plastered  with  free  gold.  He  wa: 
too  lazy  to  dig  out  enough  to  do  him  any  good.  H< 
would  come  into  the  nearest  town  with  a  rusty  ok 
lard  bucket  full  of  high  grade  so  rich  that  th< 
storekeeper  once  got  five  hundred  dollars  from  th< 
bucketful.  He  gave  the  Indian  about  twenty  dol 
lars'  worth  of  grub  and  made  him  a  present  of  tw( 
yards  of  bright  blue  ribbon,  which  tickled  the  ok 
buck  so  much  that  in  two  weeks  he  was  back  witl 
more  high  grade  knotted  in  the  bottom  of  a  gunn] 
sack. 

Casey  asked  the  man  why  some  one  didn't  trai 
the  Injun.  Casey  knew  that  an  Indian  is  not  per 
mitted  to  file  a  claim  to  mineral  land.  He  could  no 
hold  it,  under  the  law,  if  some  white  man  discoverec 
it  and  located  the  ground,  but  Casey  thought  tha 
some  white-hearted  fellow  might  take  the  claim  anc 
pay  the  buck  a  certain  percentage  of  the  profits. 

The  man  said  that  couldn't  be  done.  The  ok 
buck  —  Injun  Jim,  they  called  him  —  was  an  ok 


CASEY  RYAN  127 

she-bear.  All  the  Indians  were  afraid  of  him  and 
would  hide  their  faces  in  their  blankets  when  he 
passed  them  on  his  way  to  the  gold,  rather  than  be 
suspected  by  Injun  Jim  of  any  unwarranted  interest 
in  his  destination.  Casey  knew  enough  about  In 
dians  to  accept  that  statement.  And  white  men,  it 
would  seem,  were  either  not  nervy  enough  or  else 
they  were  not  cunning  enough.  A  few  had  at 
tempted  to  trail  Injun  Jim,  but  no  one  had  ever  suc 
ceeded,  because  that  part  of  Nevada  had  not  had 
any  gold  stampede,  which  the  man  declared  would 
have  come  sure  as  fate  if  Injun  Jim's  mine  were  ever 
uncovered. 

Casey  asked  certain  questions  and  learned  all  that 
the  man  could  tell  him, —  or  would  tell  him.  He 
said  that  Injun  Jim  lived  mostly  in  the  Tippipah 
district.  No  free  gold  had  ever  been  discovered 
there,  nor  much  gold  of  any  kind;  but  Injun  Jim 
certainly  brought  free  gold  into  Round  Butte  when 
ever  he  wanted  grub.  It  must  have  been  ungodly 
rich, —  five  hundred  dollars'  worth  in  a  ten-pound 
lard  bucket! 

The  tale  held  Casey's  imagination.  He  dreamed 
nights  of  trailing  Injun  Jim,  and  if  he'd  had  any 
money  to  outfit  for  the  venture  he  surely  would  have 
gone  straight  to  Nevada  and  to  Round  Butte.  He 
told  himself  that  it  would  take  an  outsider  to  fur 
nish  the  energy  for  the  search.  Men  who  live  in  a 
country  are  the  last  to  see  the  possibilities  lying  all 
around  them,  Casey  said.  It  was  true ;  he  had  seen 
it  work  out  even  in  himself.  Hadn't  he  driven  stage 
in  Cripple  Creek  country  and  carried  out  gold  by 


128  CASEY  RYAN 

the  hundred-thousand, —  gold  that  might  have  been 
his  had  he  not  been  content  to  drive  stage?  Hadn't 
he  lived  in  gold  country  all  his  life,  almost,  and 
didn't  he  know  mineral  formations  as  well  as  many 
a  school-trained  expert? 

But  even  dreams  of  gold  fluctuate  and  grow  vague 
before  the  small  interests  of  everyday  living.  Casey 
hadn't  the  money  just  then  to  quit  his  job  of  stage 
driving  and  go  Indian  stalking.  It  would  take 
money, — .a  few  hundred  at  least.  Casey  at  that 
time  lacked  the  price  of  a  ticket  to  Round  Butte. 
So  he  had  to  drive  and  dream,  and  his  first  spurt  of 
saving  grew  half-hearted  as  the  weeks  passed;  and 
then  he  lost  all  he  had  saved  in  a  poker  game  be 
cause  he  wanted  to  win  enough  in  one  night  to  make 
the  trip. 

However,  he  went  among  men  with  his  ears 
wide  open  for  gossip  concerning  Injun  Jim,  and  he 
gleaned  bits  of  information  that  seemed  to  confirm 
what  his  passenger  up  in  the  Yellowstone  had 
told  him.  He  even  met  a  man  who  knew  Injun 
Jim. 

Injun  Jim,  he  was  told,  had  one  eye  and  a  bad 
temper.  He  had  lost  his  right  eye  in  a  fight  with 
soldiers,  in  the  days  when  Indian  fighting  was  part 
of  a  soldier's  training.  Injun  Jim  nursed  a  grudge 
against  the  whites  because  of  that  eye,  and  while  he 
behaved  himself  nowadays,  being  old  and  not  very 
popular  amongst  his  own  people,  it  was  taken  for 
granted  that  his  trigger  finger  would  never  be  par 
alyzed,  and  that  a  white  man  need  only  furnish  him 
a  thin  excuse  and  a  fair  chance  to  cover  all  traces 


CASEY  RYAN  129 

of  the  killing.  Injun  Jim  would  attend  to.  the  rest 
with  great  zeal. 

Stranger  still,  Casey  found  that  the  tale  of  the 
lard  bucket  and  the  gold  was  true.  This  man  had 
once  been  in  the  store  when  Jim  arrived  for  grub. 
He  had  taken  a  piece  of  the  ore  in  his  hands.  It 
was  free  gold,  all  right,  and  it  must  have  come  from 
a  district  where  free  gold  was  scarce  as  women. 

"  We've  got  it  figured  down  to  a  spot  about  fifty 
miles  square,"  the  man  told  Casey.  "  That  old  In 
jun  don't  travel  long  trails.  He's  old.  And  all 
Injuns  are  lazy.  They  won't  go  hunting  mineral 
like  a  white  man.  They  know  mineral  when  they 
see  it  and  they  have  good  memories  and  can  go  to 
the  spot  afterwards.  Injun  Jim  prob-ly  run  across 
a  pocket  somewheres  when  he  was  hunting.  Can't 
be  much  of  it  —  he'd  bring  in  more  at  a  time  if  there 
was,  and  be  Injun-rich.  He's  just  figurin'  on  mak 
ing  it  hold  out  long  as  he  lives.  'Tain't  worth  while 
trying  to  find  it;  there's  too  much  mineral  laying 
around  loose  in  these  hills." 

Casey  stored  all  that  gossip  away  in  the  back  of 
his  head  and  through  all  the  ups  and  downs  of  the 
years  he  never  quite  forgot  it. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

Casey  earned  a  good  deal  of  money,  but  there  are 
men  who  are  very  good  at  rinding  original  ways  of 
losing  money,  too.  Casey  was  one.  (You  should 
hear  Casey  unburden  himself  sometime  upon  the 
subject  of  garages  and  the  tourist  trade!)  He 
saved  money  enough  in  Patmos  to  buy  two  burros 
and  a  mule,  and  what  grub  and  tools  the  burros 
could  carry.  There  were  no  poker  games  in  Pat 
mos,  and  a  discouraged  prospector  happened  along 
at  the  right  moment,  which  accounts  for  it. 

In  this  speed-hungry  age  Casey  had  not  escaped 
the  warped  viewpoint  which  others  assume  toward 
travel.  Casey  always  had  craved  the  sensation  of 
swift  moving  through  space.  His  old  stage  horses 
could  tell  you  tales  of  that !  It  was  a  distinct  come 
down,  buying  burros  for  his  venture.  That  took 
straight,  native  optimism  and  the  courage  to  make 
the  best  of  things.  But  he  hadn't  the  price  of  a 
Ford,  and  Casey  abhors  debt;  so  he  reminded  him 
self  cheerfully  that  many  a  millionaire  would  still 
be  poor  if  he  had  turned  up  his  nose  at  burros,  sour 
dough  cans  and  the  business  end  of  pick  and  shovel, 
and  made  the  deal. 

At  that,  he  was  better  off  than  most  prospectors, 
he  told  himself  on  the  night  of  his  purchase.  He 


CASEY  RYAN  131 

had  the  mule,  William,  to  ride.  The  prospector  had 
assured  Casey  over  and  over  that  William  was 
saddle  broke.  Casey  is  too  happy-go-lucky,  I  think. 
He  took  the  man's  word  for  it  and  waited  until  the 
night  before  he  intended  beginning  his  journey  be 
fore  he  gave  William  a  try-out,  down  in  a  sandy 
swale  back  of  the  garage.  He  returned  after  dark, 
leading  William.  Casey  had  a  pronounced  limp 
and  an  eyetooth  was  broken  short  off,  about  halfway 
to  the  gums,  and  his  lip  was  cut. 

"  William's  saddle  broke,  all  right,"  he  told  his 
neighbor,  the  proprietor  of  the  Oasis.  "  I've  saw 
horses  broke  like  that;  cow-punchers  have  fun  in 
the  c'rall  with  'em  Sundays,  seein'  which  one  can 
stay  with  the  saddle  three  jumps.  William  don't 
mind  the  saddle  at  all.  All  he  hates  is  anybody  in 
it."  Then  he  grinned  wryly  because  of  his  hurt. 
"  No  use  arguin'  with  a  mule  —  I  used  to  be  too 
good  a  walker." 

Casey  therefore  traded  his  riding  saddle  for  an 
other  packsaddle,  and  collected  six  coal-oil  cans 
which  he  cleaned  carefully.  William  was  loaded 
with  cans  of  water,  which  he  seemed  to  prefer  to 
Casey,  though  they  probably  weighed  more.  The 
burros  waddled  off  under  their  loads  of  beans,  flour, 
bacon,  coffee,  lard,  and  a  full  set  of  prospector's 
tools.  Casey  set  his  course  by  the  stars  and  fared 
forth  across  the  desert,  meaning  to  pass  through  the 
lower  end  of  Death  Valley  by  night,  on  a  trail  he 
knew,  and  so  plod  up  toward  the  Tippipah  country. 

He  was  happy.  He  owed  no  man  a  nickel,  he 
had  grub  enough  to  last  him  three  months  if  he 


132  CASEY  RYAN 

were  careful,  he  had  a  body  tough  as  seasoned  hick 
ory,  and  he  was  headed  for  that  great  no-man's- 
land  which  is  the  desert.  More,  he  was  actually 
upon  the  trail  of  his  dream  that  he  had  dreamed 
years  before  up  in  the  Yellowstone.  An  old,  secre 
tive  Indian  was  going  to  find  his  match  when  Casey 
Ryan  plodded  over  his  horizon  and  halted  beside  his 
fire. 

By  the  way,  don't  blame  me  for  showing  a  fond 
ness  for  gloom  and  gore  when  you  read  the  names 
Casey  carried  in  his  mind  the  next  few  weeks. 
Casey  crossed  Death  Valley  and  the  Funeral  Moun 
tains  —  or  a  spur  of  them  —  and  headed  up  toward 
Spectre  Range,  going  by  way  of  Deadman's  Spring, 
where  he  filled  his  water  cans.  That  does  not  sound 
cheerful,  but  Casey  was  still  fairly  happy, —  though 
there  were  moments  when  he  thought  seriously  of 
killing  William  with  a  rock. 

Every  morning,  without  fail,  he  and  William 
fought  every  minute  from  breakfast  to  starting  time. 
From  his  actions  you  would  think  that  William  had 
never  seen  a  pack  before,  and  expected  it  to  bite 
him  fatally  if  he  came  within  twenty  feet  of  it. 
[You  could  tell  Casey's  camp  by  the  manner  in  which 
the  sagebrush  was  trampled  and  the  sand  scored 
with  small  hoof  prints  in  a  wide  circle  around  it. 
But  once  the  battle  was  lost  to  William  for  that 
day,  and  Casey  had  rested  and  mopped  the  perspira 
tion  off  his  face  and  taken  a  comforting  chew  of 
tobacco  and  relapsed  into  silence  simply  because  he 
could  think  of  nothing  more  to  say,  William  became 
a  pet  dog  that  hazed  the  two  lazy  burros  along  with 


CASEY  RYAN  133 

little  nippings  on  their  rumps,  and  saw  to  it  that 
they  did  not  stray  too  far  from  camp. 

Casey  strung  into  Searchlight  one  evening  at  dusk 
and  camped  on  a  little  knoll  behind  the  town  hall, 
which  was  open  beyond  for  grazing,  and  the  village 
dogs  were  less  likely  to  bother.  Searchlight  was  not 
on  his  way,  but  miles  off  to  one  side.  Casey  made 
the  detour  because  he  had  heard  a  good  deal  about 
the  place  and  knew  it  as  a  favorite  stamping  ground 
of  miners  and  prospectors  who  sought  free  gold. 
Searchlight  is  primarily  a  gold  camp,  you  see.  He 
wanted  to  hear  a  little  more  about  Injun  Jim. 

But  there  had  been  a  murder  in  Searchlight  a  dark 
night  or  so  before  his  coming,  and  three  suspects 
were  being  discussed  and  championed  by  their 
friends.  Searchlight  was  not  in  the  mood  for  aim 
less  gossip  of  Indians.  Killings  had  been  monoto 
nously  frequent,  but  they  usually  had  daylight  and 
an  audience  to  rob  them  of  mystery.  A  murder 
done  on  a  dark  night,  in  the  black  shadow  of  an 
empty  dance  hall,  and  accompanied  by  a  piercing 
scream  and  the  sound  of  running  feet  was  vastly 
different. 

Casey  lingered  half  a  day,  bought  a  few  more 
pounds  of  bacon  and  some  matches  and  ten  yards 
of  satin  ribbon  in  assorted  colors  and  went  his  way. 

I  mention  his  stop  at  Searchlight  so  that  those 
who  demand  exact  geography  will  understand  why 
Casey  journeyed  on  to  Vegas,  tramped  its  hot  side 
walks  for  half  a  day  and  then  went  on  by  way  of 
Indian  Spring  to  the  Tippipah  country  and  his 
destination.  He  was  following  the  beaten  trail  of 


134  CASEY  RYAN 

miners,  now  that  he  was  in  Jim's  country,  and  he 
was  gleaning  a  little  information  from  every  man 
he  met.  Not  altogether  concerning  Injun  Jim,  un 
derstand, —  but  local  tidbits  that  might  make  him  a 
welcome  companion  to  the  old  buck  when  he  met 
him.  Casey  says  you  are  not  to  believe  story- 
writers  who  assume  that  an  Indian  is  wrapped  al 
ways  in  a  blanket  and  inscrutable  dignity.  He  says 
an  Indian  is  as  great  a  gossip  as  any  old  woman, 
once  you  get  him  thawed  to  the  talking  point. 
So  he  was  filling  his  bag  of  tricks  as  he  went 
along. 

From  Vegas  there  is  what  purports  to  be  an  auto 
mobile  road  across  the  desert  to  Round  Butte,  and 
Casey  as  he  walked  cursed  his  burros  and  William 
and  sighed  for  his  Ford.  He  was  four  days  travel 
ing  to  Furnace  Lake,  which  he  had  made  in  a  matter 
of  hours  with  his  Ford  when  he  first  came  to  Starva 
tion. 

He  struck  Furnace  Lake  just  before  dusk  one 
night  and  pushed  the  burros  out  upon  it,  thinking  he 
would  have  cool  crossing  and  would  start  in  the 
morning  with  the  lake  behind  him,  which  would  be 
something  of  a  load  off  his  mind.  In  his  heart 
Casey  hated  Furnace  Lake,  and  he  had  good  reason. 
It  was  a  place  of  ill  fortune  for  him,  especially  after 
the  sun  had  left  it.  He  wanted  it  behind  him 
where  he  need  think  no  more  about  it  and  the  grew- 
some  crevice  that  cut  a  deep,  wide  gash  two  thirds 
of  the  way  across  it  through  the  middle.  Casey  is 
not  a  coward,  and  he  takes  most  things  as  a  matter 
of  course,  but  he  admits  that  he  has  always  hated 


CASEY  RYAN  135 

and  distrusted  Furnace  Lake  beyond  all  the  dry 
lakes  in  Nevada, —  and  there  are  many. 

He  yelled  to  William,  and  William  nipped  the 
nearest  burro  into  a  shambling  half  trot,  and  then 
went  out  upon  the  lake,  Casey  heading  across  at  the 
widest  part  so  that  he  would  strike  his  old  trail  to 
Starvation  Mountain  on  the  other  side.  From  there 
to  the  summit  he  could  make  it  by  noon  on  the  mor 
row,  he  planned.  Which  would  be  the  end  of  his 
preliminary  journey  and  the  beginning  of  Casey's 
last  drive  toward  his  goal;  for  from  the  top  of  the 
divide  between  Starvation  Mountain  country  and 
that  forbidding  waste  which  lies  under  the  calm 
scrutiny  of  Furnace  Peak  he  could  see  the  far-off 
range  of  the  Tippipahs. 

He  was  a  mile  out  on  the  Lake  when  he  first 
glimpsed  the  light.  Casey  studied  it  while  he 
walked  ahead,  leaving  no  footprints  on  the  hard- 
baked  clay.  He  had  not  known-  that  any  road  fol 
lowed  just  under  the  crest  of  the  ridge  that  hid  Crazy 
Woman  lake,  yet  the  light  was  plainly  that  erf  an 
automobile  moving  with  speed  across  the  face  of  the 
ridge  just  under  the  summit. 

Away  out  in  the  empty  land  like  that  you  notice 
little  things  and  think  about  them  and  try  to  under 
stand  just  what  they  mean,  unless  they  are  per 
fectly  familiar  to  you.  One  print  of  a  foot  on  the 
trail  may  betray  the  lurking  presence  of  a  madman, 
a  murderer,  a  traveling,  friendly,  desert  dweller  or 
the  wandering  of  some  one  who  is  lost  and  dying 
of  thirst  and  hunger.  You  like  to  know  which,  and 
you  are  not  satisfied  until  you  do  know. 


136  CASEY  RYAN 

A  light  moving  swiftly  along  Crazy  Woman  ridge 
meant  a  car,  and  a  car  up  there  meant  a  road.  If 
there  were  a  road  it  would  probably  lead  Casey  by 
a  shorter  route  to  the  Tippipahs.  While  he  looked 
there  came  to  his  ears  a  roaring,  as  of  some  high- 
powered  car  traveling  under  full  pressure  of  gas. 
The  burros  followed  him,  but  William  lifted  his 
head  and  brayed  tremulously  three  times  in  the  dark. 
Casey  had  never  heard  him  bray  before,  and  the 
sudden  rasping  outcry  startled  him. 

He  went  back  and  stood  for  a  minute  looking  at 
William,  who  turned  tail  and  started  back  toward 
the  shore  they  had  left  behind  them.  Casey  ran  to 
head  him  off,  yelling  threats,  and  William,  in  spite 
of  his  six  water  cans  —  two  of  them  empty  —  broke 
into  a  lope.  Casey  glanced  over  his  shoulder  as  he 
ran  and  saw  dimly  that  the  burros  had  turned  and 
were  coming  after  him,  their  ears  flapping  loosely  on 
their  bobbing  heads  as  they  trotted.  Beyond  him, 
the  light  still  traveled  towards  the  Tippipahs. 

Then,  with  an  abruptness  that  cannot  be  pictured, 
everything  was  blotted  out  in  a  great,  blinding  swirl 
of  dust  as  the  wind  came  whooping  down  upon 
them.  It  threw  Casey  as  though  some  one  had 
tripped  him.  It  spun  him  round  and  round  on  his 
back  like  an  overturned  beetle,  and  then  scooted  him 
across  the  lake's  surface  flat  as  a  floor.  He  thought 
of  the  Crevice,  but  there  was  nothing  he  could  do 
save  hold  his  head  off  the  ground  and  his  two  palms 
over  his  face,  shielding  his  nostrils  a  little  from  the 
smother  of  dust. 

Sometimes  he  was  lifted  inches  from  the  surface 


CASEY  RYAN  137 

and  borne  with  incredible  swiftness.  More  than 
once  he  was  spun  round  and  round  until  his  senses 
reeled.  But  all  the  time  he  was  going  somewhere, 
and  I  suspect  that  for  once  in  his  life  Casey  Ryan 
went  fast  enough  to  satisfy  him.  At  last  he  felt 
brush  sweep  past  his  body,  and  he  knew  that  he  must 
have  been  swept  to  the  edge  of  the  lake.  He 
clutched,  scratched  his  hands  bloody  on  the  straggly 
thorns  of  greasewood,  caught  in  the  dark  at  a  more 
friendly  sage  and  gripped  it  next  the  roots.  The 
wind  tore  at  him,  howling.  Casey  flattened  his 
abused  body  to  the  hummocky  sand  and  hung  on. 

Hours  later,  by  the  pale  stars  that  peered  out 
breathlessly  when  the  fury  of  the  gale  was  gone, 
Casey  pulled  himself  painfully  to  his  feet  and  looked 
for  the  burros  and  William.  Judging  by  his  own 
experience,  they  had  had  a  rough  time  of  it  and 
would  not  go  far  after  the  wind  permitted  them  to 
stop.  But  as  to  guessing  how  far  they  had  been 
impelled,  or  in  what  direction,  Casey  knew  that  was 
impossible.  Still,  he  tried.  When  the  air  grew 
clearer  and  the  surrounding  hills  bulked  like  huge 
shadows  against  the  sky,  he  saw  that  he  had  been 
blown  toward  the  ridge  that  guards  Crazy  Woman 
lake.  His  pack  animals  should  be  somewhere  ahead 
of  him,  he  thought  groggily,  and  began  stumbling 
along  through  the  brush-covered  sand  dunes  that 
bordered  Furnace  Lake  for  miles. 

And  then  he  saw  again  the  light,  shining  up  there 
just  under  the  crest  of  the  ridge.  He  was  glad  the 
car  had  escaped,  but  he  reflected  that  the  tricky  winds 
of  the  desert  seldom  sweep  a  large  area.  Their  dia- 


138  CASEY  RYAN 

bolic  fury  implies  a  concentration  of  force  that  must 
of  necessity  weaken  as  it  flows  out  away  from  the 
center.  Up  there  on  the  ridge  they  may  not  have 
experienced  more  than  a  steady  blow. 

He  walked  slowly  because  of  his  bruises,  and 
many  times  he  made  small  detours,  thinking  that  a 
blotch  of  shadow  off  to  one  side  might  be  his  pack 
train.  But  always  a  greasewood  mocked  him,  wav 
ing  stiff  arms  at  him  derisively.  In  the  sage-land 
distances  deceive.  A  man  may  walk  unseen  before 
your  eyes,  and  a  bush  afar  off  may  trick  you  with 
its  semblance  to  man  or  beast.  Casey  finally  gave 
up  the  hopeless  search  and  headed  straight  for  the 
light. 

It  was  standing  still, —  a  car  facing  him  with  its 
headlights  burning,  the  distance  so  great  that  the 
two  lights  glowed  as  one.  "  An'  it  ain't  no  Ford," 
Casey  decided.  "  They  wouldn't  keep  the  engine 
runnin'  all  this  time,  standin'  still.  Unless  it's  one 
of  them  old  kind  with  lamps." 

I  don't  suppose  you  realize,  many  of  you,  just 
what  that  would  mean  to  a  man  in  the  desert  country. 
It  is  rather  hard  to  define,  but  the  significance  would 
be  felt,  even  by  Casey  in  his  present  plight.  You 
see,  small  cars,  of  the  make  too  famous  to  be  hurt  or 
helped  by  having  its  name  mentioned  in  a  simple 
yarn  like  this,  have  long  been  recognized  as  the 
proper  car  for  rough  trails  and  no  trails.  Those 
who  travel  the  desert  most  have  come  to  the  point 
of  counting  "  Lizzie  "  almost  as  necessary  as  beans. 
Wherefore  a  larger  car  is  nearly  always  brought  in 
by  strangers  to  the  country,  who  swear  solemnly 


CASEY  RYAN  139 

never  to  repeat  the  imprudence.  A  large  car,  driven 
by  strangers  in  the  land,  means  hunters,  prospectors 
from  the  outside  brought  in  by  some  special  tale  of 
hidden  wealth, —  or  just  plain  simpletons  who  only 
want  to  see  what  lies  over  the  mountain.  There 
aren't  many  of  the  last-named  variety  up  in  the 
Nevada  wastes.  Even  your  nature-loving  rovers 
oddly  keep  pretty  much  to  the  beaten  trails  of  other 
nature  lovers,  where  gas  stations  and  new  tires  may 
be  found  at  regular  intervals.  The  Painted  Desert, 
the  Petrified  Forest,  the  National  Old  Trails  they 
explore, —  but  not  the  high,  wind-swept  mesas  of 
Nevada's  barren  land. 

A  fear  that  was  not  altogether  strange  to  him 
crept  over  Casey.  It  would  be  just  his  grinning 
enemy  Ill-luck  on  his  trail  again,  if  that  light  should 
prove  to  be  made  by  men  hunting  for  Injun  Jim 
and  his  mine.  Casey  used  to  feel  a  sickness  in  his 
middle  when  that  thought  nagged  him,  and  he  felt 
a  growing  anger  now  when  he  looked  at  the  twink 
ling  glow.  He  walked  a  little  faster.  Now  that 
the  fear  had  come  to  him,  Casey  wanted  to  come  up 
with  the  men,  talk  with  them,  learn  their  business 
if  they  were  truthful,  or  sense  their  lying  if  they 
tried  to  hide  their  purpose  from  him.  He  must 
know.  If  they  were  seeking  Injun  Jim,  then  he 
must  find  some  way  to  head  them  off,  circumvent 
their  plans  with  strategy  of  his  own.  He  had 
dreamed  too  long  and  too  ardently  to  submit  now  to 
interlopers. 

So  he  walked,  limping  and  cursing  a  little  now 
and  then  because  of  his  aches.  Up  a  steep  slope 


140  CASEY  RYAN 

made  heavy  with  loose  sand  that  dragged  at  his  feet ; 
over  the  crest  and  down  the  other  side  among  rocks 
and  gravel  that  made  harder  walking  than  the  sand. 
Up  another  steep  slope:  it  was  heartbreaking,  un 
ending  as  the  toils  of  a  nightmare,  but  Casey  kept 
on.  He  was  not  worried  over  his  own  plight;  not 
yet.  He  believed  that  William  and  his  burros  were 
somewhere  ahead  of  him,  since  they  could  not  cling 
to  a  bush  as  he  had  done  and  so  resist  the  impetus  of 
that  terrific  wind.  There  was  a  car  standing  on  the 
ridge  toward  which  he  was  laboriously  making  his 
way.  It  did  not  occur  to  Casey  that  morning 
might  show  him  a  rather  desperate  plight. 

Yet  the  morning  did  just  that.  Hours  before 
dawn  the  light  had  disappeared  abruptly,  but  Casey 
had  no  uneasiness  over  that.  It  was  foolish  for 
them  to  run  down  their  battery  burning  lights  when 
they  were  standing  still,  he  thought.  They  had  not 
moved  off,  and  he  had  well  in  mind  the  contour  of 
the  ridge  where  they  were  standing.  He  would 
have  bet  good  money  that  he  could  walk  straight  to 
the  car  even  though  darkness  hid  it  from  him  until 
he  came  within  hailing  distance. 

But  daylight  found  him  still  below  the  higher 
slope  of  the  ridge,  and  Casey  was  very  tired.  He 
had  been  walking  all  day,  remember,  and  he  had 
missed  his  supper  because  he  wanted  to  eat  it  with 
the  lake  behind  him.  He  did  not  walk  in  a  straight 
line.  He  was  too  near  exhaustion  to  forge  ahead 
as  was  his  custom.  Now  he  was  picking  his  way 
carefully  so  as  to  shun  the  washes  out  of  which  he 
must  climb,  and  the  rock  patches  where  he  would 


CASEY  RYAN  141 

stumble,  and  the  thick  brush  that  would  claw  at  him. 
He  would  have  given  five  dollars  for  a  drink  of 
water,  but  there  would  be  water  at  the  car,  he  told 
himself.  People  were  rather  particular  about  carry 
ing  plenty  of  water  when  they  traveled  these  wastes. 

And  then  he  was  on  the  ridge,  and  his  keen  eyes 
were  squinted  half -shut  while  he  gazed  here  and 
there,  no  foot  of  exposed  land  surface  escaping  that 
unwinking  stare.  He  took  off  his  hat  and  wiped  his 
face,  and  reached  mechanically  for  a  chew  of  tobacco 
which  he  always  took  when  perplexed,  as  if  it  stimu 
lated  thought. 

There  was  no  car.  There  was  no  road.  There 
was  not  even  a  burro  trail  along  that  ridge.  Yet 
there  had  been  the  lights  of  a  car,  and  after  the 
lights  had  been  extinguished  Casey  had  listened 
rather  anxiously  for  sound  of  the  motor  and  had 
heard  nothing  at  all.  The  most  powerful,  silent- 
running  car  on  the  market  would  have  made  some 
noise  in  traveling  through  that  sand  and  up  and 
down  the  washes  that  seamed  the  mountain  side. 
Casey  would  have  heard  it  —  he  had  remarkably 
keen  hearing. 

"  And  that's  darn  funny,"  he  muttered,  when  he 
was  perfectly  sure  that  there  was  no  car,  that  there 
could  never  have  been  a  car  on  that  trackless  ridge. 
"That's  mighty  damn  funny!  You  can  ask  any 
body." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

Other  things,  however,  were  not  so  funny  to 
Casey  as  he  stood  staring  down  over  the  vast  empti 
ness.  There  was  no  sign  of  his  pack  train,  and 
without  it  he  would  be  in  sorry  case  indeed.  He 
thought  of  the  manner  in  which  the  tornado  had 
whirled  him  round  and  round.  Caught  in  a  dif 
ferent  set  of  gyrations  and  then  borne  out  from  the 
center  —  flung  out  would  come  nearer  it  —  the 
burros  and  William  might  have  been  carried  in  any 
direction  save  his  own.  Into  that  gruesome 
Crevice,  for  instance.  They  had  not  been  more  than 
a  mile  from  the  Crevice  when  the  storm  struck. 

He  glanced  across  to  Barren  Butte,  rising  steeply 
from  the  farther  end  of  the  lake.  But  he  did  not 
think  of  going  to  the  mine  up  there,  except  to  tell 
himself  that  he'd  rot  on  the  desert  before  he  ever 
asked  there  for  help.  He  had  his  reasons,  you  re 
member.  A  man  like  Casey  can  face  humiliation 
from  men  much  easier  than  he  can  face  a  woman 
who  had  misjudged  him  and  scorned  him.  Unless, 
of  course,  he  has  a  million  dollars  in  his  pocket  and 
knows  that  she  knows  it. 

Having  discarded  Barren  Butte  from  his  plans 
—  rather,  having  declined  to  consider  it  at  all  —  he 
knew  that  he  must  find  his  supplies,  or  he  must  find 
water  somewhere  in  the  Crazy  Woman  hills.  The 


CASEY  RYAN  143 

prospect  was  not  bright,  for  he  had  never  heard  any 
one  mention  water  there. 

He  rested  where  he  was  for  awhile  and  watched 
the  slope  for  the  pack  animals ;  more  particularly  for 
William  and  the  water  cans.  He  could  shoot  rab 
bits  and  live  for  days,  if  he  had  a  little  water,  but  he 
had  once  tried  living  on  rabbit  meat  broiled  without 
salt,  and  he  called  it  dry  eating,  even  with  water  to 
wash  it  down.  Without  water  he  would  as  soon 
fast  and  let  the  rabbits  live. 

A  dark  speck  moving  in  the  sage  far  down  the 
slope  caught  his  eyes,  and  he  got  up  and  peered  that 
way  eagerly.  He  started  down  to  meet  it  hopefully, 
feeling  certain  that  his  present  plight  would  soon 
merge  into  a  mere  incident  of  the  trail.  Sure 
enough,  when  he  had  walked  for  half  an  hour  he 
saw  that  it  was  William,  browsing  toward  him  and 
limping  when  he  moved. 

But  William  was  bare  as  the  back  of  Casey's  hand. 
There  was  no  pack,  no  coal-oil  cans  of  water;  only 
the  halter  and  lead  rope,  that  dangled  and  caught  on 
brush  and  impeded  William's  limping  progress.  I 
suppose  even  miserable  mules  like  company,  for 
William  permitted  Casey  to  walk  up  and  take  him 
by  the  halter  rope.  William  had  a  badly  skinned 
knee  which  gave  him  the  limp,  and  his  right  ear  was 
broken  close  to  his  head  so  that  the  structure  which 
had  been  his  pride  dropped  over  his  eye  like  a  wet 
sunbonnet. 

Casey  swore  a  little  and  started  back  along  Will 
iam's  tracks  to  find  the  water  cans.  He  followed 
a  winding,  purposeless  trail  that  never  showed  the 


144  CASEY  RYAN 

track  of  burros,  and  after  an  hour  or  so  he  came 
upon  the  pack  and  the  cans.  Evidently  the  water 
supply  had  suffered  in  the  wind,  for  only  four  cans 
were  with  the  blankets  and  pack  saddle. 

William  had  felt  his  pack  slipping,  Casey  sur 
mised,  and  had  proceeded  to  divest  himself  of  the 
incumbrance  in  the  manner  best  known  to  mules. 
Having  kicked  himself  out  of  it,  he  had  undoubtedly 
discovered  a  leaking  can  —  supposing  the  cans  had 
escaped  thus  far  —  and  had  battered  them  with  his 
heels  until  they  were  all  leaking  copiously.  William 
had  saved  what  he  could. 

Casey  read  the  whole  story  in  the  sand.  The  four 
cans  were  bent  with  gaping  seams,  and  their  sides 
were  scored  with  the  prints  of  William's  hoofs.  In 
a  corner  of  one  of  them  Casey  found  a  scant  half- 
cup  of  water,  which  he  drank  greedily.  It  could  no 
more  than  ease  for  a  moment  his  parched  throat;  it 
could  not  satisfy  his  thirst. 

After  that  he  led  William  back  along  the  trail 
until  the  mounting  sun  warned  him  that  he  was 
making  no  headway  on  his  journey  to  the  Tippipahs, 
and  that  with  no  tracks  in  sight  he  had  small  hope 
of  tracing  the  burros. 

It  was  sundown  again  before  he  gave  up  hope,  and 
Casey's  thirst  was  a  demon  within  him.  He  had 
wasted  a  day,  he  told  himself  grimly.  Now  it  was 
going  to  be  a  fight. 

Through  the  day  he  had  mechanically  studied  the 
geologic  formation  of  those  hills  before  him,  and 
he  had  decided  that  the  chaace  for  water  there  was 
too  slight  to  make  a  search  worth  while.  He  would 


CASEY  RYAN  145 

push  on  toward  the  Tippipahs.  Pah,  he  knew, 
meant  water  in  the  Indian  tongue.  He  did  not 
know  what  Tippi  signified,  but  since  Indians  lived 
in  the  Tippipah  range  he  was  assured  that  the  water 
was  drinkable.  So  he  got  stiffly  to  his  feet,  studied 
again  the  darkling  skyline,  sent  a  glance  up  at  the 
first  stars,  and  turned  his  face  and  William's  reso 
lutely  toward  the  Tippipahs. 

He  had  applied  first  aid  to  William's  knee  in  the 
form  of  chewed  tobacco,  which  if  it  did  no  more  at 
least  discouraged  the  pestering  flies.  Now  he  col 
lected  a  ride  for  his  pay.  He  had  reasoned  that 
William  was  probably  subdued  to  the  point  of  per 
mitting  the  liberty,  and  that  he  had  other  things  to 
think  of  more  important  than  protecting  his  mulish 
dignity.  Casey  guessed  right.  William  merely 
switched  his  tail  pettishly,  as  mules  will,  and  went 
on  picking  his  way  through  brush  and  rocks  along 
tlie  ridge. 

It  was  perhaps  nine  o'clock  when  Casey  saw  the 
light.  William  also  spied  it  and  stopped  still,  his 
long  left  ear  pointed  that  way,  his  broken  right  ear 
dropping  over  his  eye.  William  lifted  his  nose  and 
brayed  as  if  he  were  tearing  loose  all  his  vitals  and 
the  operation  hurt  like  the  mischief.  Casey  kicked 
him  in  the  flanks  and  urged  him  on.  It  must  be  a 
camp  fire,  Casey  thought.  He  did  not  connect  it 
with  that  moving  light  he  had  seen  the  night  before ; 
that  phantom  car  was  a  mystery  which  he  would 
probably  never  solve,  and  in  Casey's  opinion  it  had 
nothing  to  do  with  a  camp  fire  that  twinkled  upon  a 
distant  hilltop. 


146  CASEY  RYAN 

From  the  look  of  it,  Casey  judged  that  it  was 
perhaps  eight  miles  off, —  possibly  less.  But  there 
was  a  rocky  canyon  or  two  between  them,  and  Will 
iam  was  lame  and  Casey  was  too  exhausted  to  walk 
more  than  half  a  mile  before  he  must  lie  down  and 
own  himself  whipped.  Casey  Ryan  had  never  done 
that  for  a  man,  and  he  did  not  propose  to  do  it  for 
Nature.  He  thought  that  William  ought  to  have 
enough  stamina  to  make  the  trip  if  he  were  given 
time  enough.  And  at  the  last,  if  William  gave  out, 
then  Casey  would  manage  somehow  to  walk  the  rest 
of  the  way.  It  all  depended  upon  giving  William 
time  enough. 

You  know,  mules  are  the  greatest  mind  readers 
in  the  world.  I  have  always  heard  that,  and  now 
Casey  swears  that  it  is  so.  William  immediately 
began  taking  his  time.  Casey  told  me  that  a  turtle 
starting  nose  to  nose  with  William  would  have  had 
to  pull  in  his  feet  and  wait  for  him  every  half  mile 
or  so.  William  must  have  been  very  thirsty,  too. 

The  light  burned  steadily,  hearteningly.  When 
ever  they  crawled  to  high  ground  where  a  view  was 
possible,  Casey  saw  it  there,  just  under  a  certain  star 
which  he  had  used  for  a  marker  at  first.  And  when 
ever  William  saw  the  light  he  brayed  and  tried  to 
swing  around  and  go  the  other  way.  But  Casey 
would  not  permit  that,  naturally.  Nor  did  he  won 
der  why  William  acted  so  queerly.  You  never 
wonder  why  a  mule  does  things;  you  just  fight  it 
out  and  are  satisfied  if  you  win,  and  let  it  go  at  that. 

Casey  does  not  remember  clearly  the  details  of 
that  night.  He  knows  that  during  the  long  hours 


CASEY  RYAN  147 

William  balked  at  a  particularly  steep  climb,  and 
that  Casey  was  finally  obliged  to  get  off  and  lead 
the  way.  It  established  an  unfortunate  precedent, 
for  William  refused  to  let  Casey  on  again,  and  Casey 
was  too  weak  to  mount  in  spite  of  William.  They 
compromised  at  last ;  that  is,  they  both  walked. 

The  light  went  out.  Moreover,  Casey's  star  that 
he  had  used  to  mark  the  spot  moved  over  to  the  west 
and  finally  slid  out  of  sight  altogether.  But  Casey 
felt  sure  of  the  direction  and  he  kept  going  doggedly 
toward  the  point  where  the  light  had  been.  He  says 
there  wasn't  a  rod  where  a  snail  couldn't  have  outrun 
him,  and  when  the  sky  streaked  red  and  orange  and 
the  sun  came  up,  he  stood  still  and  looked  for  a 
camp,«and  when  he  saw  nothing  at  all  but  bare  rock 
and  bushes  of  the  kind  that  love  barrenness,  he 
crawled  under  the  nearest  shade,  tied  William  fast 
to  the  bush  and  slept.  You  don't  realize  your  thirst 
so  much  when  you  are  asleep,  and  you  are  saving 
your  strength  instead  of  wearing  it  out  in  the  hot 
sun.  He  remained  there  until  the  sun  was  almost 
out  of  sight  behind  a  high  peak.  Then  he  got  up, 
untied  William,  mounted  him  -without  argument 
from  either,  and  went  on,  keeping  to  the  direction 
in  which  he  had  seen  the  light. 

Even  the  little  brpwn  mule  was  having  trouble 
now.  He  wavered,  he  picked  his  footing  with  great 
care  when  a  declivity  dipped  before  him ;  he  stopped 
every  few  yards  and  rested  when  he  was  making  a 
climb.  As  for  Casey,  he  managed  to  hold  himself 
on  the  narrow  back  of  William,  but  that  was  all. 
He  understood  perfectly  that  the  next  twenty-four 


148  CASEY  RYAN 

hours  would  tell  the  story  for  him  and  for  William. 
He  had  a  sturdy  body  however  and  a  sturdy  brain 
that  had  never  weakened  its  hold  on  facts.  So  he 
clung  to  his  reason  and  pushed  fear  away  from  him 
and  said  doggedly  that  he  would  go  forward  as  long 
as  he  could  crawl  or  William  could  carry  him,  and 
he  would  die  or  he  would  not  die,  as  Fate  decided 
for  him.  He  wondered,  too,  about  the  camp  whose 
fire  he  had  seen. 

Then  he  saw  the  light.  This  time  it  burned  sud 
denly  clear  and  large  and  very  bright,  away  off  to 
the  left  of  him  where  he  had  by  daylight  noticed  a 
bare  shale  slide.  The  light  seemed  to  stand  in  the 
very  center  of  the  slide,  no  more  than  a  mile  away. 

William  stopped  when  Casey  pulled  on  the  reins 
he  had  fashioned  from  the  lead  rope,  and  turned 
stiffly  so  that  he  faced  the  light.  Casey  kicked  him 
gently  with  his  heels  to  urge  him  forward,  for  in 
spite  of  what  his  reason  told  him  about  the  shale 
slide  his  instinct  was  to  go  straight  to  the  light.  But 
William  began  to  shiver  and  tremble,  and  to  swing 
slowly  away.  Casey  tried  to  prevent  it,  but  the 
mule  came  out  in  William.  He  laid  his  good  ear 
flat  along  his  neck  as  far  as  it  would  go,  and  took 
little,  nipping  steps  until  he  had  turned  with  his  tail 
to  the  light.  Then  he  thrust  his  fawn-colored  muz 
zle  to  the  stars  and  brayed  and  brayed,  his  good  ear 
working  like  a  pump  handle  as  he  tore  the  sounds 
loose  from  his  vitals. 

Casey  cursed  him  in  a  whisper,  having  no  voice 
left.  He  kicked  William  in  the  flanks,  having  no 
other  means  of  coercion  at  hand.  But  kicking  never 


CASEY  RYAN  149 

yet  altered  the  determination  of  a  mule,  and  cursing 
a  mule  in  a  whisper  is  like  blowing  your  breath 
against  the  sail  of  a  becalmed  sloop.  William  kept 
his  tail  toward  the  light,  and  furthermore  he  mo 
mentarily  drew  his  tail  farther  and  farther  from  that 
spot.  Now  and  then  he  would  turn  his  head  and 
glance  back,  and  immediately  increase  his  pace  a 
little.  He  was  long  past  the  point  where  he  had 
strength  to  trot,  but  he  could  walk,  and  he  did  walk 
and  carry  Casey  on  his  back,  still  whispering  con 
demnation. 

They  did  not  travel  all  night.  Casey  looked  at  the 
Big  Dipper  and  judged  it  was  midnight  when  they 
stopped  on  the  brink  of  a  deep  canyon,  halted  there 
in  William's  sheer  despair  because  the  light  appeared 
suddenly  on  the  high  point  of  a  hill  directly  ahead 
of  them.  William's  voice  was  gone  like  Casey's, 
so  that  he,  too,  cursed  in  a  whisper  with  a  spasmodic 
indrawing  of  ribs  and  a  wheezing  in  his  throat. 

When  it  was  plain  that  the  mule  had  stopped 
permanently,  Casey  slid  off  William's  back  and  lay 
down  without  knowing  or  caring  much  whether  he 
would  ever  get  up  again.  He  said  he  wasn't  hungry 
—  much;  but  his  mouth  was  too  full  of  tongue,  he 
added  grimly. 

He  lay  and  watched  through  half -closed,  staring 
eyes  the  light  that  mocked  him  so.  His  dulling 
senses  told  him  that  it  was  no  camp  fire,  nor  any 
light  made  by  human  hands.  He  did  not  know  what 
it  was.  He  didn't  care  any  more.  William 
crumpled  up  and  lay  down  beside  him,  breathing 
heavily.  It  was  getting  close  to  the  end  of  things. 


ISO  CASEY  RYAN 

Casey  knew  it,  and  he  thinks  William  knew  it  too. 

The  sun  found  them  there  and  forced  Casey  to 
move.  He  sat  up  painfully,  the  fight  to  live  not  yet 
burned  out  of  him,  and  gazed  dully  at  the  forbidding 
hills  that  closed  around  him  like  great,  naked  rock 
demons  watching  to  see  him  die  for  want  of  the 
things  they  withheld.  Where  he  remembered  the 
light  to  have  been  when  last  he  saw  it  was  bleak,  bare 
rock.  It  was  a  devil's  light  and  there  was  nothing 
friendly  or  human  about  it. 

He  looked  down  into  the  canyon  which  William 
had  refused  to  enter.  A  faint  interest  revived  with 
in  him  because  of  a  patch  of  green.  Trees, —  but 
they  might  easily  be  junipers  which  will  grow  in  dry 
canyons  as  readily,  it  would  seem,  as  in  any  other. 
He  kept  looking,  because  green  was  a  great  relief 
from  the  monotonous  gray  and  black  and  brown  of 
the  hills.  It  seemed  to  him  after  awhile  that  he 
saw  a  small  splotch  of  dead  white. 

In  the  barren  lands  two  things  will  show  white  in 
the  distance;  a  white  horse  and  a  tent  of  white  can 
vas.  Casey  shifted  his  position  and  squinted  long 
at  the  spot,  then  got  up  slowly  with  the  help  of  a 
bush  and  took  William  by  the  rope.  William  was 
on  his  feet,  standing  with  head  dropped,  apparently 
half  asleep.  Casey  knew  that  William  was  simply 
waiting  until  he  could  no  longer  stand. 

Together  they  wabbled  down  the  sloping  canyon 
side  and  over  a  grassy  bottom  to  the  trees,  which 
were  indeed  juniper  trees,  but  thriftier  looking  than 
their  brethren  of  the  dry  places.  There  was  water, 
for  William  smelled  it  at  last  and  hurried  forward 


CASEY  RYAN  151 

with  more  briskness  than  Casey  could  muster,  eager 
though  he  was  to  reach  the  tent  he  saw  standing 
there  under  the  biggest  juniper. 

Beside  the  tent  was  a  water  bucket  of  bright,  new 
tin.  A  white  granite  dipper  stood  in  it.  Casey 
drank  sparingly  and  stopped  when  he  would  have 
given  all  he  ever  possessed  in  the  world  to  have  gone 
on  drinking  until  he  could  hold  no  more.  But  he 
was  not  yet  crazy  with  the  thirst.  So  he  stopped 
drinking,  filled  a  white  granite  basin  and  soused  his 
head  again  and  again,  sighing  with  sheer  ecstasy 
at  the  drip  of  water  down  his  back  and  chest.  After 
a  little  he  drank  two  swallows  more,  put  down  the 
dipper  and  went  into  the  tent. 


CHAPTER  XV 

We  can  all  remember  certain  experiences  that  fill 
us  with  incredulity  even  while  we  admit  that  the 
facts  could  be  proved  before  a  jury  of  twelve  men. 
So  Casey  Ryan,  having  lost  his  outfit  and  come  so 
near  to  death  that  he  could  barely  keep  his  feet  un 
der  him,  walked  into  a  tent  and  stood  there  thinking 
it  couldn't  be  true. 

A  folding  camp  chair  stood  near  the  opening,  and 
Casey  sat  down  from  sheer  weakness  while  he  looked 
about  him.  The  tent  was  a  twelve-by- fourteen, 
which  is  a  bit  larger  than  one  usually  carries  in  a 
pack  outfit.  It  had  a  canvas  floor  soiled  in  strips 
where  the  most  walking  had  been  done,  but  white 
under  table  and  beds,  which  proved  its  newness. 
Casey  was  not  accustomed  to  seeing  tents  floored 
with  canvas,  and  he  stared  at  it  for  a  full  half- 
minute  before  his  eyes  went  to  other  things. 

There  was  a  folding  camp  table  of  the  kind  shown, 
in  the  window  display  of  sporting-goods  stores,  but 
which  seasoned  campers  find  too  wobbly  for  actual 
comfort.  The  varnish  still  shone  on  legs  and 
braces,  which  helped  to  prove  its  newness.  There 
was  a  two-burner  oil  stove  with  an  enamel-rimmed 
oven  that  was  distinctly  out  of  place  in  that  country 
and  yet  harmonized  perfectly  with  the  tent  and 
furnishings.  The  dishes  were  white  enamel  or 


CASEY  RYAN  153 

aluminum,  and  there  were  boxes  piled  upon  boxes, 
the  labels  proclaiming  canned  things  too  expensive 
for  ordinary  eating.  Two  spring  cots  with  new 
blankets  and  white-cased  pillows  stood  against  the 
tent  wall,  and  beneath  each  cot  sat  two  yellow  pig 
skin  suitcases  with  straps  and  brass  buckles.  They 
would  have  been  perfectly  natural  in  a  Pullman 
sleeper,  but  even  in  his  present  stress  Casey  snorted 
disdainfully  at  sight  of  them  here. 

Things  were  tumbled  about  in  the  disorder  of 
inexperienced  campers,  but  everything  was  very  new 
and  clean  except  an  array  of  dishes  on  the  table, 
which  told  Casey  that  one  man  had  eaten  at  least 
three  meals  without  washing  his  dishes  or  putting 
away  his  surplus  of  food.  Casey  had  eaten  nothing 
at  all  after  that  one  toasted  rabbit  which  he  had 
choked  down  on  the  evening  when  he  gave  up  hope 
of  finding  the  burros.  He  got  up  and  staggered 
stiffly  to  the  table  and  picked  up  a  piece  of  burned 
biscuit,  hard  as  flint. 

While  he  mumbled  a  fragment  of  that  he  looked 
into  various  half -filled  cans,  setting  them  one  by  one 
in  a  compact  group  on  the  table  corner;  which  was 
habit  rather  than  conscious  thought.  Poisonous 
ptomaine  lurked  in  every  one  of  them,  which  was  a 
shame,  since  he  had  to  discard  half  a  can  of  pre 
served  peaches,  half  a  can  of  roast  beef,  half  a  can 
of  asparagus  tips,  a  can  of  chicken  soup  scarcely 
touched  and  two  thirds  of  a  can  of  sweet  potatoes. 
He  salvaged  a  can  of  ripe  olives  which  he  thought 
was  good,  a  can  of  India  relish  and  a  can  of  sweet 
gherkins  (both  of  the  fifty-seven  varieties).  You 


154  CASEY  RYAN 

will  see  what  I  meant  when  I  spoke  of  expensive 
camp  food. 

There  was  cold  coffee  in  a  nickel  percolater,  and 
Casey  poured  himself  a  cup,  knowing  well  the  risk  of 
eating  much  just  at  first.  It  was  while  he  was  un 
screwing  the  top  of  the  glass  jar  that  held  the  sugar 
that  he  first  noticed  the  paper.  It  was  folded  and 
thrust  into  the  sugar  jar,  and  Casey  pulled  it  out  and 
held  it  crumpled  in  his  hand  while  he  sweetened 
and  drank  the  coffee,  forcing  himself  to  take  it 
slowly.  When  the  cup  was  empty  to  the  last  drop 
he  went  over  and  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  a  spring 
cot  and  unfolded  the  note.  What  he  read  surprised 
him  a  great  deal  and  puzzled  him  more.  I  leave  it 
to  you  to  judge  why. 

"  I  saw  it  again  last  night  in  a  different  place. 
The  last  horse  died  yesterday  down  the  canyon. 
You  can  'have  the  outfit.  I'm  going  to  beat  it  out  of 
here  while  the  going's  good.  FRED." 

"  That's  mighty  damn  funny,"  Casey  muttered 
thickly.  "  You  can  —  ask  — "  He  lay  back  lux 
uriously,  with  his  head  on  the  white  pillow  and  closed 
his  eyes.  The  reaction  from  struggling  to  live  had 
set  in  with  the  assurance  of  his  safety.  He  slept 
heavily,  refreshingly. 

He  awoke  to  the  craving  for  food,  and  immedi 
ately  started  a  small  fire  outside  and  boiled  coffee  in 
a  nice  new  aluminum  pail  that  held  two  quarts  and 
had  an  ornamental  cover.  The  oil  stove  he  dis 
missed  from  his  mind  with  a  snort  of  contempt. 
And  because  nearly  everything  he  saw  was  cata- 


CASEY  RYAN  155 

logued  in  his  mind  as  a  luxury,  he  opened  cans  some 
what  extravagantly  and  dined  off  strange,  delect 
able  foods  to  which  his  palate  was  unaccustomed. 
He  still  thought  it  was  mighty  queer,  but  that  diet 
not  impair  his  appetite. 

Afterwards  he  went  out  to  look  after  William, 
remembering  that  horses  were  said  to  have  died  in 
this  place.  William  was  almost  within  kicking  dis 
tance  of  the  spring,  as  if  he  meant  to  keep  an  eye 
upon  the  water  supply  even  though  that  involved 
browsing  off  brush  instead  of  wandering  down  to 
good  grass  below  the  camp. 

Casey  knelt  stiffly  and  drank  from  the  spring, 
laving  his  face  and  head  afterward  as  if  he  never 
would  get  enough  of  the  luxury  of  being  wet  and 
cool.  He  rose  and  stood  looking  at  William  for  a 
few  minutes,  then  took  the  lead  rope  and  tied  him 
to  a  juniper  that  stood  near  the  spring.  The  note 
had  said  that  the  last  horse  died  down  the  canyon, 
the  implication  of  mystery  lying  heavy  behind  the 
words. 

Casey  went  back  to  the  tent  and  read  the  note 
through  again  twice,  studying  each  word  as  if  he 
hoped  to  twist  some  added  information  out  of  it. 
It  sounded  as  though  the  writer  had  expected  his 
partner  back  from  some  trip  and  had  left  the  note 
for  him,  since  he  had  not  considered  it  necessary  to 
explain  what  it  was  that  he  had  seen  again  in  a  dif 
ferent  place.  Casey  wondered  if  it  might  not  have 
been  that  strange  light  which  he  himself  had  fol 
lowed.  Whatever  it  was,  the  fellow  had  not  liked 
it.  His  going  had  all  the  earmarks  of  flight. 


156  CASEY  RYAN 

Well,  then,  why  had  the  last  horse  died  down  the 
canyon?  Casey  decided  that  he  would  go  and  see, 
though  he  was  not  hankering  for  exercise  that  day. 
He  took  a  long  drink  of  water,  somewhat  shame 
facedly  filled  a  new  canteen  that  lay  on  a  pile  of 
odds  and  ends  near  the  tent  door,  and  started  down 
the  canyon.  It  couldn't  be  far,  but  he  might  want 
a  drink  before  he  got  back,  and  Casey  had  had 
enough  of  thirst. 

He  was  not  long  in  finding  the  horse  that  had 
died,  and  in  fact  all  the  horses  that  had  died.  There 
had  been  four,  and  the  manner  of  their  death  was 
not  in  the  least  mysterious.  They  had  been  staked 
out  to  graze  in  a  luxurious  patch  of  loco  weed,  which 
is  reason  enough  why  any  horse  should  die. 

Of  course,  no  man  save  an  unmitigated  tender 
foot  would  picket  a  horse  on  loco,  which  looks  very 
much  like  wild  peavine  and  is  known  the  West  over 
as  the  deadliest  weed  that  grows.  A  little  of  it 
mixed  with  a  diet  of  grass  will  drive  horses  and 
cattle  insane,  and  there  is  no  authentic  case  of  re 
covery,  that  I  ever  heard,  once  the  infection  is  com 
plete.  A  lot  of  it  will  kill, —  and  these  poor  beasts 
had  actually  been  staked  out  to  graze  upon  it,  I  sup 
pose  because  it  looked  nice  and  green,  and  the  horses 
liked  it. 

The  performance  matched  very  well  the  enamel- 
trimmed  oil  stove  and  the  tinned  dainties  and  the 
expensive  suitcases.  Casey  went  back  to  camp  feel 
ing  as  though  he  had  stumbled  upon  a  picnic  of 
feeble-minded  persons.  He  wondered  what  in  hell 
two  men  of  such  a  type  could  be  doing  out  there,  a 


CASEY  RYAN  157 

hundred  miles  and  more  from  an  ice-cream  soda  and 
a  barber's  chair.  He  wondered  too  how  "  Fred  " 
had  expected  to  get  himself  across  that  hundred 
miles  and  more  of  dry  desert  country.  He  must 
certainly  be  afoot,  and  the  camp  itself  showed  no 
sign  of  an  emergency  outfit  having  been  assembled 
from  its  furnishings. 

Casey  made  sure  of  that,  inspecting  first  the  bed 
ding  and  food  and  then  the  cooking  utensils. 
Everything  was  complete  —  lavishly  so  —  for  two 
men  who  loved  comfort.  Even  their  sweaters  were 
there;  and  Casey  knew  they  must  have  discovered 
that  the  nights  can  be  cool  even  though  the  days  are 
hot,  in  that  altitude.  And  there  were  two  canteens 
of  the  size  usually  carried  by  hikers. 

Casey  was  so  worried  that  he  could  not  properly 
enjoy  his  supper  of  pate  de  foi  gras  and  crackers, 
with  pork  and  beans,  plum  pudding  —  eaten  as  cake 
—  and  spiced  figs  and  coffee.  That  night  he  turned 
over  on  his  spring-cot  bed  as  often  as  if  he  had  been 
lying  on  nettles,  and  when  he  did  sleep  he  dreamed 
horribly. 

Next  morning  he  set  out  with  William  and  an 
emergency  camp  outfit  to  trace  if  he  could  the  miss 
ing  men.  The  great  outdoors  of  Nevada  is  not 
kind  to  such  as  these,  and  Casey  had  too  lately  suf 
fered  to  think  with  easy-going  optimism  that  they 
would  manage  somehow.  They  would  die  if  they 
were  left  to  shift  for  themselves,  and  Casey  could 
not  pretend  that  he  did  not  know  it. 

But  there  was  a  difficulty  in  rescuing  them,  just 
as  there  had  been  in  rescuing  the  burros.  Casey 


158  CASEY  RYAN 

could  not  find  their  tracks,  and  so  could  not  follow 
them.  He  and  William  hunted  the  canyon  from 
top  to  bottom  and  ranged  far  out  on  the  valley  floor 
without  discovering  anything  that  could  be  called  the 
track  of  a  man.  Which  was  strange,  too,  in  a  coun 
try  where  footprints  are  held  for  a  long,  long  while 
by  the  soil, —  as  souvenirs  of  man's  passing,  per 
haps. 

So  it  transpired  that  Casey  at  length  returned  to 
the  new  tent  just  below  the  spring  in  the  nameless 
canyon  beyond  Crazy  Woman  Lake.  Chipmunks 
had  invaded  the  place  and  feasted  upon  an  opened 
package  of  sweet  crackers,  but  otherwise  the  tent 
had  been  left  inviolate.  Neither  Fred  nor  his  part 
ner  had  returned.  Wherefore  Casey  opened  more 
cans  and  "  made  himself  to  home,"  as  he  naively 
put  it. 

He  was  impatient  to  continue  his  journey,  but 
since  he  had  nothing  of  his  own  except  William,  he 
meant  to  beg  or  buy  a  few  things  from  this  camp, 
if  either  of  the  owners  showed  up.  Meantime  he 
could  be  comfortable,  since  it  is  tacitly  understood 
in  the  open  land  that  a  wayfarer  may  claim  hospi 
tality  of  any  man,  with  or  without  that  man's 
knowledge.  He  is  expected  to  keep  the  camp  clean, 
to  leave  firewood  and  to  take  nothing  away  with  him 
except  what  is  absolutely  necessary  to  insure  his  get 
ting  safely  to  the  next  stopping  place.  Casey  knew 
well  the  law,  and  he  busied  himself  in  setting  the 
camp  in  order  while  he  waited. 

But  when  five  days  and  nights  had  slipped  into 
history  and  he  and  William  were  still  in  sole  pos- 


CASEY  RYAN  159 

session,  Casey  began  to  take  another  viewpoint. 
Fred  might  possibly  have  left  in  a  flying  machine. 
The  partner  might  have  decamped  permanently  be 
fore  Fred  lost  his  nerve.  Several  things  might  have 
happened  which  would  leave  this  particular  camp 
and  contents  without  a  claimant.  Casey  studied 
the  matter  for  awhile  and  then  pulled  the  four  suit 
cases  from  beneath  the  cots  and  proceeded  to  in 
vestigate.  The  first  one  that  he  opened  had  a  note 
folded  and  addressed  to  Fred.  Casey  read  it 
through  without  the  slightest  compunction.  The 
handwriting  was  different  from  that  of  the  first  note, 
hurried  and  scrawly,  the  words  connected  with  faint 
lines.  Here  is  what  Fred's  partner  had  written : 

"  DEAR  FRED  :  Don't  blame  me  for  leaving  you. 
A  man  that  carries  the  grouch  you  do  don't  need 
company.  I'm  fed  up  on  solitude,  and  I  don't  like 
the  feel  of  things  here.  My  staying  won't  help  your 
lung  a  damn  bit  and  if  you  want  anything  you  can 
hunt  up  the  men  that  carry  the  light.  Maybe  they 
are  the  ones  that  are  killing  off  the  horses.  Any 
way,  you  can  wash  your  own  dishes  from  now  on. 
It  will  do  you  good.  If  I  had  of  known  you  were 
the  crab  you  are  I'll  say  I  would  never  have  come. 
You  are  welcome  to  my  share  of  the  outfit.  I  hope 
some  one  shoots  me  and  puts  me  out  of  my  misery 
quick  if  I  ever  show  symptoms  of  wanting  to  camp 
out  again.  I  am  going  now  because  if  I  stayed  I'd 
change  your  map  for  you  so  your  own  looking  glass 
wouldn't  know  you.  I'll  say  you  are  some  nut. 

"ART." 

Casey  had  to  take  a  fresh  chew  of  tobacco  before 


160  CASEY  RYAN 

his  brain  would  settle  down  and  he  could  think 
clearly.  Then  he  observed  that  it  was  a  damn 
funny  combination  and  you  could  ask  anybody. 
After  that  he  began  to  realize  that  he  was  heir  to  a 
fine  assortment  of  canned  delicacies  and  an  oil  stove 
and  four  suitcases  rilled,  he  hoped,  with  good  clothes. 
Not  omitting  possession  of  two  spring  cots  and  sev 
eral  pairs  of  high-grade  blankets,  and  two  sweaters 
and  Lord  knows  what  all. 

Those  suitcases  were  enough  to  make  any  man 
sit  and  bite  his  nails,  wondering  if  he  were  crazy. 
Fred  and  Art  had  evidently  fitted  their  wardrobe  to 
their  ideas  of  a  summer  camp  with  dancing  pavilion 
and  plenty  of  hammocks  in  the  immediate  neighbor 
hood.  There  were  white  flannel  trousers  and  white 
canvas  shoes  and  white  silk  socks,  and  fine  ties  and 
handkerchiefs  and  things.  There  were  striped  silk 
shirts  which  made  Casey  grin  and  think  how  tickled 
Injun  Jim  would  be  with  them, —  or  one  or  two  of 
them;  Casey  had  no  intention  of  laying  them  all  on 
the  altar  of  diplomacy.  There  was  an  assortment 
of  apparel  in  those  suitcases  that  would  qualify  any 
man  as  porch  hound  at  Del  Monte.  And  Casey 
Ryan,  if  you  please,  had  fallen  heir  to  the  lot! 

He  dressed  himself  in  white  flannels  with  a  silk 
shirt  of  delf  blue  and  pale  green  stripes,  and  wished 
that  there  was  a  looking-glass  in  camp  large  enough 
to  reflect  all  of  him  at  once.  Then,  because  his 
beard  stubble  did  not  harmonize,  he  shaved  with  one 
of  the  safety  razors  he  found. 

After  that  he  sorted  and  packed  a  careful  ward 
robe,  and  stored  strange  food  into  two  canvas 


CASEY  RYAN  161 

kyacks.  And  the  next  evening  he  tied  the  tent  flaps 
carefully  and  fared  forth  with  William  to  find  the 
camp  of  Injun  Jim  and  see  if  his  dream  would  come 
true. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

You  may  not  believe  this  next  incident.  I  know 
I  did  not,  when  Casey  told  me  about  it, —  but  now 
I  am  not  so  sure.  Casey  said  that  the  light  appeared 
again,  that  night,  moving  slowly  along  the  lip  of  the 
canyon  like  a  man  with  a  large  lantern.  There  was 
a  full  moon,  which  had  made  him  decide  to  travel  at 
night  on  account  of  the  heat  while  the  sun  was  up. 
But  the  moon  did  not  reveal  the  cause  of  the  light, 
though  the  canyon  crest  was  plainly  visible  to  him. 

William  swung  away  from  that  light  and  walked 
rather  briskly  in  the  other  direction,  and  Casey  did 
not  argue  with  him.  So  they  headed  almost  due 
west  and  kept  going.  It  seemed  to  Casey  once  or 
twice  that  the  light  followed  them ;  but  he  could  not 
be  sure. 

Two  full  nights  he  journeyed,  and  on  both  nights 
he  had  the  light  behind  him.  Once  it  came  up 
swiftly  to  within  a  mile  or  so  of  him  and  William, 
and  stopped  there  for  awhile  and  then  disappeared. 
Casey  camped  rather  early  and  slept,  and  took  the 
trail  again  in  the  morning.  Night  travel  was  get 
ting  on  his  nerves. 

All  that  day  he  walked  and  toward  evening,  with 
thunder  heads  piling  high  above  the  Tippipahs,  he 
came  upon  a  small  herd  of  Indian  ponies  feeding  out 
from  the  mouth  of  a  wide  gulch.  He  knew  they 


CASEY  RYAN  163 

were  Indian  ponies  by  their  size,  their  variegated 
colors,  and  their  general  unkemptness.  They  pres 
ently  spied  him  and  went  galloping  off  up  the  gulch, 
and  Casey  followed  until  he  spied  a  thin  bluish  rib 
bon  of  smoke  wavering  up  toward  the  slate-black 
clouds. 

He  made  camp  just  out  of  sight  around  a  point 
of  rocks  from  the  smoke,  stretching  the  canvas  tarp 
which  had  floored  the  tent  to  make  shelter  between 
boulders.  He  changed  his  clothes,  dressing  himself 
carefully  in  the  white  flannel  trousers,  blue-and- 
green  striped  silk  shirt,  tan  belt,  white  shoes  and  his 
old  Stetson  tilted  over  his  right  eye  at  the  charac 
teristic  Casey  angle.  He  was  taking  it  for  granted 
that  an  Indian  camp  lay  under  that  smoke,  and  he 
knew  Indians.  Inquisitiveness  would  shut  them  up 
as  effectively  as  poking  a  stick  at  a  clam;  but  there 
were  ways  of  coaxing  their  interest,  nevertheless, 
and  when  an  Indian  is  curious  you  have  the  trumps 
in  your  own  hand  and  it  will  be  your  own  fault  if 
you  lose. 

Casey's  manner  therefore  was  extremely  preoccu 
pied  when  he  led  a  suddenly  limping  William  up  the 
gulch  and  past  a  stone  hut  with  a  patched  tepee 
alongside  it.  A  lean  squaw  stood  erect  before  the 
tepee  and  regarded  him  fixedly  from  under  the  shade 
of  a  mahogany-colored  hand,  and  when  Casey  came 
closer  she  stooped  and  ducked  out  of  sight  like  a 
prairie  dog  diving  into  its  burrow.  Casey  paid  no 
attention  to  that.  He  knew  without  being  told  that 
he  was  under  close  scrutiny  from  eyes  unseen; 
which  was  what  he  desired  and  had  prepared  for. 


164  CASEY  RYAN 

The  spring,  as  he  had  guessed,  was  above  the 
camp.  He  threw  a  rock  at  two  yammering  curs 
that  rushed  out  at  him,  and  drove  them  back  with 
Caseyish  curses.  Then  he  watered  William  at  the 
trampled  spring,  made  himself  a  smoke,  and  went 
back  down  the  gulch.  Opposite  the  tepee  the  squaw 
stood  beside  the  trial.  Casey  grinned  amiably  and 
said  hello. 

"  Yo'  ketchum  'bacco  ?  My  man,  him  heap  sick. 
Mebby  die.  Likeum  'bacco,  him."  The  squaw 
muttered  it  as  if  she  would  rather  not  speak,  but  had 
been  commanded  to  beg  tobacco  from  the  stranger. 

"  Sure,  I  got  tobacco !  "  Casey's  tone  was  a  bit 
more  friendly  than  before.  He  pulled  a  small  red 
can  from  his  shirt  pocket,  hesitated  and  then  tied 
William  to  a  bush.  "  Too  bad  your  man  sick. 
Mebby  I  can  help  him.  He  in  here  ?  " 

The  squaw  gestured  dumbly,  and  Casey  stooped 
and  went  into  the  tepee. 

Inside  it  was  so  dark  that  he  stood  still  just  within 
the  opening  to  get  his  bearings.  This  happened  to 
be  very  good  form  in  Indian  society,  and  we  will 
assume  that  Casey  lost  nothing  by  the  pause.  He 
dimly  saw  that  a  few  blankets  lay  untidily  against 
the  tepee  wall  and  that  an  old  Indian  was  stretched 
upon  them,  watching  Casey  with  one  black  eye,  the 
other  lid  lying  in  sunken  folds  across  the  socket. 
Casey  was  for  once  in  his  life  speechless.  He  had 
not  expected  to  walk  straight  into  the  camp  of  Injun 
Jim.  He  had  thought  that  of  course  he  would  have 
to  go  on  to  Round  Butte  and  glean  information 
there,  perhaps;  if  he  were  exceptionally  lucky  he 


CASEY  RYAN  165 

would  meet  Indians  who  would  tell  him  what  he 
wanted  to  know.  But  here  was  a  one-eyed  buck, 
and  he  was  old,  and  he  lived  in  the  Tippipahs, — 
Injun  Jim  by  all  description. 

"  Your  squaw  says  you  want  tobacco."  Casey 
advanced  and  held  out  the  red  can.  He  knew  better 
than  to  waste  words,  especially  in  the  beginning. 
Indians  are  peculiar;  you  must  approach  them  by 
not  seeming  to  approach  at  all. 

The  old  fellow  grunted  and  turned  the  can  over 
and  over  in  clawlike  hands,  and  said  he  wanted  a 
match  and  a  paper.  Casey  went  farther ;  he  rolled  a 
cigarette  and  gave  it  to  him  and  then  rolled  one  for 
himself.  They  smoked,  there  in  that  unsavory 
tepee,  saying  nothing  at  all.  Casey  had  achieved 
the  first  part  of  his  dream;  he  was  making  friends 
with  Injun  Jim. 

Later  he  went  down  to  his  own  camp,  leading 
William.  It  was  hard  to  wait  and  watch  for  the 
proper  moment  to  broach  the  subject  that  filled  his 
mind,  and  then  induce  the  old  Indian  to  talk. 
Casey  was  beginning  to  understand  why  no  one  had 
wormed  the  secret  from  Jim.  When  you  are  hun 
dreds  of  miles  and  many  months  distant  from  a  prob 
lem,  it  is  easy  to  decide  that  you  will  do  so  and  so, 
and  handle  the  matter  differently  from  the  bungling 
men  you  have  heard  about.  To  find  Injun  Jim  and 
get  him  to  tell  where  his  gold  mine  was  had  seemed 
fairly  easy  to  Casey  when  he  was  driving  stage  else 
where,  and  could  only  think  about  it.  But  when  he 
sat  on  his  haunches  in  the  tepee,  smoking  with  Injun 
Jim  and  conversing  intermittently  of  such  vital 


166  CASEY  RYAN 

things  as  the  prospect  of  rain  that  night,  and  the  en 
forced  delay  in  his  journey  because  his  pack  mule 
was  lame,  speaking  of  gold  mines  in  a  properly 
disinterested  and  casual  manner  was  not  at  all 
easy. 

However,  Casey  ate  a  very  hearty  supper  and 
went  to  bed  studying  the  problem  of  somehow  win 
ning  the  old  fellow's  gratitude.  Morning  did  not 
bring  a  solution,  as  it  properly  should  have  done, 
but  he  ransacked  his  pack,  chose  a  small  glass  jar 
of  blackberry  jam  and  a  little  can  of  maple  syrup, 
fortified  himself  with  another  red  can  of  tobacco 
and  went  up  to  the  camp,  hoping  for  a  streak  of 
good  luck.  As  for  medicine,  he  hadn't  a  drop,  and 
if  he  had  he  did  not  know  for  certain  what  ailed 
Injun  Jim.  He  thought  it  was  just  old  age  and 
general  cussedness. 

Injun  Jim  ate  the  jam,  using  a  deadly  looking 
knife  and  later  his  fingers,  when  the  jam  got  low  in 
the  jar.  When  he  had  finished  that  he  opened  the 
can  and  drank  the  maple  syrup  just  as  he  would  have 
drunk  whisky, —  with  a  relish.  He  smoked  Casey's 
tobacco  in  the  stone  pipe  which  the  squaw  brought 
him  and  appeared  fairly  well  satisfied  with  life. 
But  he  did  not  talk  much,  and  what  he  did  say  was  of 
no  importance  whatever.  Not  once  did  he  mention 
gold  mines. 

Casey  went  back  to  camp  and  swore  at  William 
as  he  counted  his  cans  of  luxuries.  He  did  not  re 
alize  that  he  had  established  a  dangerous  precedent, 
but  when  he  led  William  up  to  water,  meaning  to 
pass  by  the  camp  without  stopping,  the  squaw  halted 


CASEY  RYAN  167 

him  on  his  way  back  and  told  him  briefly  that  her 
man  wanted  him. 

Injun  Jim  did  not  want  Casey;  he  wanted  more 
jam.  Casey  went  back  to  camp  and  got  another 
can,  this  time  of  strawberry,  and  in  a  spirit  of 
peevishness  added  a  small  tin  of  the  liver  paste  that 
had  caused  him  a  night's  discomfort.  He  took  them 
to  the  tepee,  and  Injun  Jim  ate  the  complete  con 
tents  of  both  cans  and  seemed  disgruntled  after 
wards  ;  so  much  so  that  he  would  not  talk  at  all  but 
smoked  in  brooding  silence,  staring  with  his  one 
malevolent  eye  at  the  stained  wall  of  the  tepee. 

An  hour  later  he  began  to  move  himself  restlessly 
in  the  blanket  and  to  mutter  Piute  words,  the  full 
meaning  of  which  Casey  did  not  grasp.  But  he 
would  not  answer  when  he  was  spoken  to,  so  Casey 
went  back  to  his  camp.  And  that  night  Injun  Jim 
was  very  sick. 

Next  day  however  he  was  sufficiently  recovered 
to  want  more  jam.  Casey  filled  his  pockets  with 
small  cans  and  doled  them  out  one  by  one  and  gos- 
sipped  artfully  while  he  watched  Injun  Jim  eat 
pickles,  India  relish  and  jelly  with  absolute,  in 
scrutable  impartiality.  Casey  felt  sympathetic 
qualms  in  his  own  stomach  just  from  watching  the 
performance,  but  he  was  talking  for  a  gold  mine 
and  he  did  not  stop. 

"  You  know  Willow  Pete  ?  "  he  asked  garrulously. 
"  Big,  tall  man.  Drinks  whisky  all  the  time.  Wil 
low  Pete  found  a  gold  mine  two  moons  ago.  He's 
rich  now.  Got  a  big  barrel  of  whisky.  Got  silk 
shirts  like  this  — "  he  plucked  at  his  own  silken 


168  CASEY  RYAN 

sleeve  " —  got  lots  of  jam  all  the  time.  Every  day 
drinks  whisky  and  eats  jam." 

"Hunh!"  Injun  Jim  ran  his  forefinger  dex 
terously  around  the  inside  of  a  jelly  glass  and  licked 
the  finger  with  the  nonchalance  of  a  two-year-old. 
"  Hunh.  Got  heap  big  gol'  mine,  me.  No  can  go 
ketchum  two  year,  mebby.  I  dunno.  Feet  no 
damn  good  for  walk.  Back  no  damn  good  for  ride. 
No  ketchum  gol'  long  time  now." 

Casey  took  a  chew  of  tobacco.  This  was  getting 
to  the  point  he  had  been  aiming  for,  and  he  needed 
his  wits  working  at  top  speed. 

"  Well,  if  you  got  a  gold  mine,  you  can  eat  jam 
all  the  time.  Drink  whisky,  too,"  he  added,  hush 
ing  his  conscience  peremptorily.  "If  you've  got  a 
white  man  that's  your  friend,  he  might  take  your 
gold  to  town  and  buy  whisky  and  jam." 

Injun  Jim  considered,  his  finger  searching  for 
more  jelly.  "  White  man  no  good  for  Injun, 
mebby.  I  dunno.  Ketchum  gol',  mebby  no  givum. 
Tell  all  white  mans.  Heap  mans  come.  White 
man  horses  eat  grass.  Drink  all  water.  Shootum 
deer,  shootum  rabbit,  shootum  all  damn  time. 
Make  big  house.  Heap  noise  all  time.  No  place 
for  Injuns  no  more.  No  good." 

"  White  man  not  all  same,  Jim.  One  white  man 
maybe  good  friend.  Help  get  gold,  give  you  half. 
You  buy  lots  of  jam,  lots  of  whisky,  lots  of  silk 
shirts,  have  good  time."  Casey  looked  at  him 
straight.  He  could  do  it,  because  he  meant  what 
he  said;  even  the  whisky,  I  regret  to  say. 

Injun  Jim  accepted  a  cigarette  and  smoked  it, 


CASEY  RYAN  169 

saying  never  a  word.  Casey  smoked  the  mate  to 
it  and  waited,  trying  to  hide  how  his  fingers  trem 
bled.  Injun  Jim  turned  himself  painfully  on  the 
blankets  and  regarded  Casey  steadily  with  his  one 
suspicious  eye.  Casey  met  the  look  squarely. 

"  You  got  more  shirt  ?  "  Jim's  finger  pointed  at 
the  blue  and  green  stripes.  "  Yo'  got  more  jam? 
You  bringum.  Heap  sick,  me,  mebby  die.  Me  no 
takeum  gol'  me  die.  No  wantum,  me  die.  Yo' 
mebby  good  man.  I  dunno.  Me  ketchum  heap 
jam,  ketchum  heap  silk  shirt,  ketchum  heap  'bacco, 
heap  whisky,  mebby  me  tellum  you  where  ketchum 
gol'  mine.  Me  die,  yo'  heap  rich  — " 

He  turned  suddenly,  lifted  his  right  arm  and  sent 
his  knife  swishing  through  the  air.  It  sliced  its  way 
through  the  tepee  wall  and  hung  there  quivering, 
caught  by  the  hilt.  Injun  Jim  called  out  vicious,. 
Piute  words.  "  Hahnaga !  "  he  commanded  fiercely. 
"Hahnaga!" 

The  lean  old  squaw  came  meekly,  stood  just  with 
in  the  tepee  while  her  lord  spat  words  at  her.  She 
answered  apathetically  in  Piute  and  backed  out. 
Presently  she  returned,  driving  before  her  a  young 
squaw  whom  Casey  had  not  before  seen.  The 
young  squaw  was  holding  a  hand  upon  her  other 
arm,  and  Casey  saw  blood  between  her  fingers. 
The  young  squaw  was  not  particularly  meek.  She 
stood  there  sullenly  while  Injun  Jim  berated  her  in 
the  Indian  tongue,  and  once  she  muttered  a  retort 
that  made  the  old  man's  fingers  go  groping  over 
the  blankets  for  a  weapon ;  whereat  the  young  squaw 
laughed  contemptuously  and  went  out,  sending 


170  CASEY  RYAN 

Casey  a  side  glance  and  a  fleeting  smile  as  full  of 
UMjueliji  as  ever  wtnte  woman  could  employ. 

The  mterrnptaon  silenced  the  old  bock  upon  the 
of  gold.     Casey  sat  there  and  chewed  to- 
and  waited,  schoofang  his  impatience  as  best 

. *"  '  'j ~*       l~-   m_IT"rrt"Z   in    -   .  _I~r      _  7   . 2.  •     •    ."."". 

his  one  eye  dosed.  But  Casey  knew  that  he  did  not 
sleep  ;kis  thin  fips  were  drawn  too  tense  for  slumber, 
oo  be  waited. 

•  Injue  Jim  opened  his  eye  suddenly,  looked  all 
around  the  tepee  aoo*  then  ilarod  fixedly  at  Casey. 
m  Youog  squaw  no  good.  Heap  much  white  talk. 
Stealum  goT  mine,  mebby.  I  dunno.*  He  ges- 
and  Casey  got  it  for  him.  Injun 

I  dunno.  Yo  ketch— 
many  jam  yof  ketch- 
Casey  meditated  awhile.  He  had  not  planned  an 
exdosrt~e  Jon  diet  for  Injun  Jim,  therefore  his  sap- 
ply  was  gtiiiog  low.  Bat  at  the  tenderfoot  camp 
was  OOKO  OHJie,  r*M7*|'f'fc  to  last  Injun  loo  to  the 
border  of  the  happ\  hunting  grounds,- —  if  he  dot 
loiter  too  long  upon  the  way.  There  was  no 
long  Injun  Jim  would  be  able  to  eat 
jam,  bat  Casey  was  a  good  gambler. 

"  If  I  go  get  a  lot  more,  and  get  silk  shirts — • 
six,  he  counted  with  his  fingers,  you  tefl  me  where 
yoorgold  mine  is." 

bnngnm  heap  jam,   bnngnm  shirt.     Me 
His  one  eye  was  bright        Y        -rrj~. 
Yo*  bnngnm  shirt     YoT  giv  enm  me.       He 


CASEY  RYAN  171 


patted  the  bare  dirt  beside  the  blankets, 
that  he  wanted  the  jam  and  shirts  there,  within  reach 
of  his  hand.  He  even  twisted  his  crnel  old  lips  rnto 
a  smile.  "  Me  teDum,  Me  shakenm  hand." 

He  held  out  his  left  hand  and  Case}-  clasped  it 
soberly,  though  he  wanted  to  jump  up  and  crack  his 
heels  together,  —  as  he  confided  afterwards.  Injtm 
Jim  laid  the  blade  of  his  knife  across  the  clasped 
hands. 

*Yo'  He  me,  yo'  die  quick.  Injun  god  bitenm. 
Mebby  snake  I  dtnmo.  How  long  yo'  ketchum 
heap  jam,  heap  shirt?  " 

Xow  that  he  knew  the  war,  Casey  had  in  mind  a 
certain  short-cot  that  would  subtract  two  days  from 
the  round  trip.  He  held  up  his  hand,  fingers  spread, 
and  got  up.  Then  he  thought  of  the  threat  and 
added  one  of  his  own, 

"  FTC  got  a  God  myself,  Jnn.  You  lie  about 
that  gold  mine  and  the  jamll  choke  ynh  to  death. 
You  can  ask  anybody" 

Casey  went  out  and  straightway  packed  for  tbe 
journey.  Fate,  be  told  himself,  was  playing  part 
ners  with  him,  I  don't  suppose  Casey,  even  in  his 
most  happy-go-lucky  mood,  had  ever  been  quite  so 
content  with  fife  as  when  be  returned  to  the  camr  :  : 
tbe  tenderfeet  for  a  mule  load  of  jam  and  silk  shirts. 
Trading  an  old  muzzle-loading  shotgun  to  an  Indian 
chief  for  the  foftnrc  Ac  of  a  great  dry  could  not 
have  seemed  more  of  a  bargain  in  tbe  days  of 
forefathers. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

He  made  the  trip  almost  half  a  day  sooner  than 
he  had  promised  and  went  straight  up  to  Injun 
Jim's  camp  with  his  load.  He  was  whistling  all 
the  way  up  the  canyon  to  the  tepee;  but  then  he 
stopped. 

Inside  the  hut  was  the  sound  of  wailing.  Casey 
tried  not  to  guess  what  that  meant.  He  tied  Will 
iam  and  went  to  the  door  of  the  tepee. 

The  young  squaw  came  from  within  and  stood 
just  before  the  opening,  regarding  Casey  with  that 
maddening,  Indian  immobility  so  characteristic  of 
the  race.  She  did  not  speak,  though  Casey  waited 
for  fully  two  minutes;  nor  did  she  move  aside  to 
let  him  go  in.  Casey  grinned  disarmingly. 

"  Me  ketchum  heap  jam  for  Injun  Jim.  Heap 
silk  shirts.  Me  go  tellum,"  he  said. 

"Are  those  they?"  the  young  squaw  inquired 
calmly,  and  pointed  to  William.  Casey  jumped. 
Any  man  would,  hearing  that  impeccable  sentence 
issue  from  the  lips  of  a  squaw  with  a  blanket  over 
her  head. 

"  Uh-huh,"  he  gulped. 

"  My  father  is  dead.  He  died  yesterday  from 
eating  too  much  pickles  that  you  gave  him.  I  should 
like  to  have  what  you  have  brought  to  give  him.  I 
should  thank  you  for  the  silk  shirts.  I  can  fix  them 


CASEY  RYAN  173 

so  that  I  can  wear  them.  I  will  talk  to  you  pretty 
soon  about  that  gold  mine.  I  know  where  it  is.  I 
have  helped  my  father  bring  the  gold  away.  My 
father  would  not  tell  you  if  you  gave  him  all  the  jam 
and  all  the  silk  in  the  world.  My  father  was  awful 
mean.  I  thought  he  would  maybe  kill  you  and  that 
is  why  I  listened  beside  the  tepee.  I  wished  to  pro 
tect  you  because  I  know  that  you  are  a  good  man. 
Will  you  give  me  the  silk  shirts  and  the  jam?  " 

She  smiled  then,  and  Casey  saw  that  she  had  a 
gold  tooth  in  front,  which  further  demonstrated  how 
civilized  she  was. 

"  You  will  excuse  the  way  I  am  dressed.  I  have 
to  dress  so  that  I  would  please  my  father.  He  was 
very  mean  with  me  all  the  time.  He  did  not  like 
me  because  I  have  gone  to  school  and  got  a  fine 
educating.  He  wanted  me  to  be  Indian.  But  I 
knew  that  my  father  is  a  chief  and  that  makes  me 
just  what  you  would  say  a  princess,  and  I  wished 
to  learn  how  to  be  educate  like  all  white  ladies.  So 
I  took  some  gold  from  my  father's  mine  and  I  spent 
the  money  for  going  to  school.  My  name,"  she 
added  impressively,  "  is  Lucy  Lily.  What  is  your 
name  ?  " 

"  Mr.  —  Casey  Ryan,"  he  stuttered,  floundering 
in  the  mental  backwash  left  by  this  flood  of  amazing 
eloquence. 

"  I  like  that  name.  I  think  I  will  have  you  for 
my  friend.  Do  not  talk  to  my  mother,  Hahnaga. 
She  is  crazy.  She  tells  lies  all  the  time  about  me. 
She  does  not  like  me  because  I  have  went  to  school 
and  got  a  fine  educating.  She  is  mad  all  the  time 


174  CASEY  RYAN 

when  she  sees  that  I  am  not  like  her.  Now  you  give 
me  the  silks.  I  will  put  on  a  pretty  dress.  My 
father  is  dead  now  and  I  can  do  what  I  wish  to  do ;  I 
am  not  afraid  of  my  mother.  My  mother  does  not 
know  where  to  find  the  gold  mine.  I  am  the  only 
one  who  knows." 

Casey  is  a  simple  soul,  too  trustful  by  far.  He 
was  embarrassed  by  the  arch  smile  which  Lucy  Lily 
gave  him,  and  he  wished  vaguely  that  she  was  the 
blanket  squaw  she  looked  to  be.  But  it  never  oc 
curred  to  Casey  that  there  might  be  a  wily  purpose 
behind  her  words.  He  unpacked  William  and  gave 
her  the  things  he  had  brought  for  Injun  Jim,  and 
returned  with  his  camp  outfit  to  the  spring  to  think 
things  over  while  he  boiled  himself  a  pot  of  coffee 
and  fried  bacon. 

Lucy  Lily  appeared  like  an  unwarranted  vision 
before  him.  Indeed,  Casey  likened  her  coming  to 
a  nightmare.  Casey  no  longer  wondered  why  In 
jun  Jim  insisted  upon  Indian  dress  for  Lucy  Lily. 

Now  she  wore  a  red  silk  skirt  much  spotted  with 
camp  grease.  A  three-cornered  tear  in  the  side  had 
been  sewed  with  long  stitches  and  coarse  white 
thread,  and  even  Casey  was  outraged  by  the  un 
workmanlike  job.  She  had  on  one  of  the  silk  shirts, 
which  happened  to  be  striped  in  many  shades,  none 
of  which  harmonized  with  the  basic  color  of  the 
skirt.  She  also  wore  two  cheap  necklaces  whose 
luster  had  long  since  faded,  and  her  hair  was  coiled 
on  top  of  her  head  and  adorned  with  three  combs 
containing  many  white  glass  settings.  Her  face 
was  powdered  thickly  to  the  point  of  her  jaws,  with 


CASEY  RYAN  175 

very  red  cheekbones  and  very  red  lips.  She  wore 
once-white  slippers  with  French  heels  much  run  over 
at  the  side  and  dirty  white  silk  stockings  with  great 
holes  in  the  heels.  I  must  add  that  the  shirt  was 
too  narrow  in  the  bust,  so  that  her  arms  bulged  and 
there  were  gaping  spaces  between  the  buttons.  And 
for  a  belt  she  wore  a  wide  blue  ribbon  very  much 
creased  and  soiled,  as  if  she  had  used  it  for  a  long 
while  as  a  hair  bow. 

She  sat  down  upon  a  rock  and  watched  Casey  dis 
tractedly  bungle  his  cooking.  She  must  have  had 
a  great  deal  of  initiative  for  a  squaw,  for  she 
plunged  straight  into  the  subject  which  most  nearly 
concerned  Casey,  and  she  was  frank  to  the  point 
of  appalling  him  with  her  bluntness.  Casey  is  a 
rather  case-hardened  bachelor,  but  I  suspect  that 
Lucy  Lily  scared  him  from  the  beginning. 

"  Do  you  like  me  when  I  have  pretty  dress  on  ?  " 
she  inquired,  smoothing  the  red  silk  complacently 
over  her  knees. 

Casey  swears  that  he  told  her  it  didn't  make  a  darn 
bit  of  difference  to  him  what  she  wore.  If  that  is 
the  truth,  Lucy  Lily  must  have  been  very  stupid  or 
very  persistent,  for  she  went  on  blandly  stating  her 
plans  and  her  dearest  wish. 

"  That  gold  mine  I  am  keeping  for  my  husband," 
she  announced.  "  It  is  a  present  for  a  wedding  gift 
for  my  man.  I  shall  not  marry  an  Indian  man.  I 
am  too  pretty  and  I  have  a  gold  mine,  and  I  will 
marry  a  white  man.  Indians  don't  know  what 
money  is  good  for.  I  want  to  live  in  a  town  and 
wear  silk  dresses  all  the  time  every  day  and  ride  in 


176  CASEY  RYAN 

a  red  automobile  and  have  lots  of  rings  and  go  to 
shows.  Have  you  got  lots  of  money?" 

I  don't  know  what  Casey  told  her.  He  says  he 
swore  he  hadn't  a  nickel  to  his  name. 

"  I  think  you  have  got  lots  of  money.  I  think 
perhaps  you  are  rich.  I  don't  see  white  men  walk 
in  the  desert  with  silk  shirts  and  have  lots  of  jam 
and  pickles  if  they  are  not  rich.  I  think  you  want 
that  gold  mine  awful  bad.  You  gave  Jim  lots  of 
jam  so  he  would  tell  you.  White  men  want  lots 
of  more  money  when  they  have  got  lots  of  money. 
It  is  like  that  in  shows.  If  a  man  is  poor  he  don't 
care.  If  a  man  is  rich  he  is  hunting  all  the  time  for 
more  money  and  killing  people.  So  I  think  you  are 
like  them  rich  mans  in  shows." 

Casey  told  her  again  that  he  was  poor;  but  she 
couldn't  have  believed  him, —  not  in  the  face  of  all 
the  silk  and  sweets  he  had  displayed. 

"  I  am  awful  glad  Jim  is  dead.  Now  you  have 
gave  me  the  things.  We  will  go  to  Tonopah  and 
you  will  buy  a  red  automobile  and  we  will  ride  in  it. 
And  you  will  buy  me  lots  of  silk  and  rings.  I  shall 
be  a  lady  like  a  princess  in  a  show." 

"  Your  mother  has  got  something  to  say  about 
that  gold  mine,"  Casey  blurted  desperately.  "  It's 
hers  by  rights.  She'd  have  to  go  fifty-fifty  on  it. 
She's  got  it  coming,  and  I  never  cheated  any 
body  yet.  I  ain't  going  to  commence  on  an  old 
squaw." 

"  She  is  a  big  fool.  What  you  think  Hahnaga 
want  of  money?  The  agent  he  gives  her  blankets 
and  tea  and  flour.  If  you  give  Hahnaga  silk,  I  will 


CASEY  RYAN  177 

be  awful  mad.     She  is  old.     She  will  die  pretty 
quick." 

"  Well,"  said  Casey,  "  I  dunno  as  any  of  us  has 
got  any  cinch  on  living.     And  if  there's  a  gold  mine 
in  the  family,  she  sure  has  got  to  have  an  even 
break.     What  about  old  Jim?     Buried  him  yet?" 
"  He  is  in  the  tepee.     I  think  Hahnaga  will  dig 
a  grave.     I  don't  care.     I  will  go  with  you,  and  we 
will  find  the  gold  mine.     Then  you  will  buy  me  — " 
"  I'll  buy  you  nothin' !  "     Casey's  tone  was  em 
phatic. 

Lucy  Lily  looked  at  him  steadily.  "  Before  we 
go  for  the  gold  mine  we  will  go  to  Tonopah  and  get 
marriage,  and  you  will  give  me  a  gold  ring  on  my 
finger.  Then  I  will  show  you  where  is  gold  so 
much  you  will  have  money  to  buy  the  world  full  of 
things."  She  smiled  at  him,  showing  her  gold 
tooth.  "  I  like  you  for  my  man,"  she  said.  "  I  am 
awful  pretty.  I  have  lots  of  fellows.  I  could 
marry  lots  of  other  white  mans,  but  I  will  marry 
you." 

"  Like  hell  you  will !  "  snorted  Casey,  and  began 
to  wipe  out  his  frying  pan  and  empty  his  coffeepot 
and  make  other  preparations  for  instant  packing. 
"  Like  hell  you'll  marry  me !  Think  I'd  marry  a 
squaw — ?  " 

"  Then  I  will  not  tell  you  where  is  the  gold ! 
Then  I  hate  you  and  I  will  fix  you  good !  You  want 
that  gold  mine  awful  bad.  You  will  have  to  marry 
me  before  I  tell  you." 

Casey  straightened  and  looked  at  her,  his  frying 
pan  in  one  hand,  his  coffeepot  in  the  other.  "  Say, 


iy8  CASEY  RYAN 

I  never  asked  you  about  the  darn  mine,  did  I?  I 
done  my  talkin'  to  Injun  Jim.  It's  you  that  butted 
in  here  on  this  deal.  Seein'  he's  dead,  I'll  talk  to 
his  squaw  and  make  a  deal  with  her,  mebby."  He 
looked  her  over  measuringly.  "  Princess  —  hunh ! 
I'll  tell  yuh  in  plain  American  what  you  are,  if  yuh 
don't  git  outa  here.  I  may  want  a  gold  mine,  all 
right,  but  I  sure  don't  want  it  that  bad.  Git  when 
I  tell  yuh  to  git !  " 

A  squaw  with  no  education  would  have  got  forth 
with.  But  Lucy  Lily  had  learned  to  be  like  white 
ladies, —  or  so  she  said.  She  screamed  at  him  in 
English,  in  Piute,  and  chose  words  in  each  that  no 
princess  should  employ  to  express  her  emotions. 
Her  loud  denunciations  followed  Casey  to  the  tepee, 
where  he  stopped  and  offered  his  services  to  Hah- 
naga  as  undertaker. 

She  accepted  stolidly  and  together  they  buried 
Injun  Jim,  using  his  best  blanket  and  not  much 
ceremony.  Casey  did  not  know  the  Piute  customs 
well  enough  to  follow  them,  and  his  version  of  the 
white  man's  funeral  service  was  simple  in  the  ex 
treme.  Hahnaga,  however,  brought  two  bottles  of 
pickles  and  one  jar  of  preserves  which  had  out 
lasted  Injun  Jim's  appetite,  and  put  them  in  the 
grave  with  him,  together  with  his  knife  and  an  old 
rifle  and  his  pipe. 

To  dig  a  grave  and  afterwards  heap  the  dirt  sym 
metrically  over  a  discarded  body  takes  a  little  time, 
no  matter  how  cursory  is  the  proceeding.  Casey 
ceased  to  hear  Lucy  Lily's  raucous  voice  and  so 
thought  that  she  had  settled  down.  He  misjudged 


CASEY  RYAN  179 

the  red  princess.     He  discovered  that  when  he  went 
back  to  where  William  had  stood. 

He  no  longer  stood  there.  He  was  gone,  pack 
and  all,  and  once  more  Casey  stood  equipped  for 
desert  journeying  with  shirt,  overalls,  shoes  and 
socks,  and  his  old  Stetson,  and  with  half  a  plug  of 
tobacco,  a  pipe  and  a  few  matches  in  his  pocket. 
On  the  bush  where  William  had  been  tied  a  piece  of 
paper  was  impaled  and  fluttered  in  the  wind.  Casey 
jerked  it  off  and  read  the  even,  carefully  formed 
script, —  and  swore. 

"  Dear  Sir:  I  am  going  to  Tonopah.  If  you  try 
to  come  I  will  tell  the  sherf  to  coming  and  see  Jim 
and  put  you  in  jail.  I  will  tell  the  judge  you  killed 
him  and  the  sherf  will  put  you  in  jail  and  hung  you. 
Those  are  fine  shirts.  I  will  wear  them  silk.  As 
ever  your  friend, 

Yours  truly, 
LUCY  LILY." 

Casey  sat  down  on  a  rock  to  think  it  over.  The 
squaw  was  moving  about  within  the  hut,  collecting 
the  pitifully  few  belongings  which  Lucy  Lily  had 
disdained  to  steal.  An  Indian  does  not  like  to  stay 
where  one  has  died. 

Casey  could  overtake  Lucy  Lily,  if  he  walked  fast 
and  did  not  stop  when  dark  fell,  but  he  did  not  want 
to  overtake  her.  He  was  not  alarmed  at  her  threat 
of  the  sheriff,  but  he  did  not  want  to  see  her  again 
or  hear  her  or  think  of  her. 

So  Casey  tore  up  the  note  and  went  and  begged 
a  little  food  from  Hahnaga;  then  he  broached  the 


i8o  CASEY  RYAN 

subject  of  the  gold  mine.  The  squaw  listened,  look 
ing  at  him  with  dull  black  eyes  and  a  face  like  a 
stamped-leather  portrait  of  an  Indian.  She  shook 
her  head  and  pointed  down  the  gulch. 

"  No  find  gol',  bad  girl.  I  think  killum  my  mans. 
I  dunno.  No  fin'  gol' — Jim  he  no  tellum.  No 
tellum  me,  no  tellum  Lucy,  no  tellum  nobody.  I 
think,  all  time  Jim  hide."  She  made  a  gesture  as 
of  one  covering  something  with  dirt.  "  Lucy  all 
time  try  for  fin'  gol'.  Jim  he  no  likeum.  Lucy  my 
sister  girl.  Bad.  No  good.  All  time  heap  mean. 
All  time  tellum  heap  big  lie  so  Indian  no  likeum. 
One  time  take  monee,  go  'way  off.  School  for 
write.  Come  back  for  fin'  gol',  make  Jim  tellum. 
Jim  sick  long  time.  Jim  no  tellum.  Jim  all  time 
mad  for  Lucy.  Las'  night  —  talk  mean  —  mebby 
fight  —  Jim  he  die  quick.  Lucy  say  killum  me,  I 
tell. 

"  Now  me  go  my  brother.  Walk  two  day.  Give 
you  grub  —  no  got  many  grub.  You  takeum  gol' 
you  fin'.  Me  no  care.  No  want..  You  don'  give 
Lucy.  Lucy  bad  girl  all  time.  No  fin'  gol' — Jim 
he  no  tellum.  I  dunno." 

That  left  Casey  exactly  where  he  had  been  before 
he  found  Injun  Jim.  There  was  no  getting  around 
it;  the  squaw  repeated  her  statements  twice,  which 
Casey  thought  was  probably  more  talking  that  she 
had  done  before  in  the  course  of  six  months.  She 
impressed  Casey  as  being  truthful.  She  really  did 
not  know  any  more  about  Injun  Jim's  mine  than 
did  Casey.  Or  perhaps  a  little  more,  because  she 
knew,  poor  thing,  just  how  drunk  Jim  could  get 


CASEY  RYAN  181 

on  the  whisky  they  gave  him  for  the  gold.  He  used 
to  beat  her  terribly  when  he  came  to  camp  drunk. 
Casey  learned  that  much,  though  it  didn't  help  him 
any. 

Hahnaga  did  not  seem  to  think  that  anything 
need  be  done  about  the  manner  of  Jim's  death.  She 
said  he  was  heap  sick  and  would  die  anyway,  or 
words  —  not  many  —  to  that  effect.  Casey  decided 
to  go  on  and  mind  his  own  business.  He  did  not 
see  why,  he  said,  the  county  of  Nye  should  be  let 
in  for  a  lot  of  expense  on  Injun  Jim's  account,  even 
if  Jim  had  been  killed.  And  as  for  punishing  Lucy 
Lily,  he  was  perfectly  willing  that  it  should  be  done, 
only  he  did  not  want  to  do  it.  I  have  always  be 
lieved  that  Casey  was  afraid  she  might  possibly 
marry  him  in  spite  of  himself  if  she  were  in  his 
immediate  neighborhood  long  enough. 

They  made  themselves  each  a  small  pack  of  food 
and  what  was  more  vital,  water,  and  went  their  dif 
ferent  ways.  Hahnaga  struck  off  to  the  west,  to 
her  brother  at  the  end  of  Forty-Mile  Canyon.  At 
least,  that  was  where  she  said  her  brother  mostly 
camped.  Casey  retraced  his  steps  for  the  second 
time  to  the  camp  of  the  tenderfeet.  Loco  Canyon, 
Casey  calls  the  place,  claiming  it  by  right  of  dis 
covery. 

Now  I  don't  see,  and  possibly  you  won't  see, 
either,  what  the  devil's  lantern  had  to  do  with 
Casey's  bad  luck.  Casey  maintains  rather  stub 
bornly  that  it  had  a  great  deal  to  do  with  it.  First, 
he  says,  it  got  him  all  off  the  trail  following  it,  and 
was  almost  the  death  of  him  and  William.  Next,  he 


182  CASEY  RYAN 

declares  that  it  drove  him  to  Lucy  Lily  and  had 
fully  intended  that  he  should  be  tied  up  to  her. 
Then  he  suspects  that  it  had  something  to  do  with 
Injun  Jim's  dying  just  when  he  did,  and  he  has 
another  count  or  two  against  the  lantern  and  will 
tell  you  them,  and  back  them  with  much  argument, 
if  you  nag  him  into  it. 

It  taught  him  things,  he  says.  And  once,  after 
we  had  talked  the  matter  over  and  had  fallen  into 
silence,  he  broke  out  with  a  sentence  I  have  never 
forgotten,  nor  the  tone  in  which  he  said  it,  nor  the 
way  he  glared  into  the  fire,  his  pipe  in  his  hand 
where  he  always  had  it  when  he  was  extremely  in 
earnest. 

"  The  three  darndest,  orneriest,  damndest  things 
on  earth,"  said  Casey,  as  if  he  were  intoning  a  text, 
"  is  a  Ford,  or  a  goat,  or  an  Injun.  You  can  ask 
anybody  yuh  like  if  that  ain't  so." 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

Casey  was  restless,  and  his  restlessness  manifested 
itself  in  a  most  unusual  pessimism.  Twice  he 
picked  up  "  float "  that  showed  the  clean  indigo 
stain  of  silver  bromyrite  in  spots  the  size  of  a  split 
pea,  and  cast  the  piece  from  him  as  if  it  were  so 
much  barren  limestone,  without  ever  investigating 
to  see  where  it  had  come  from.  Little  as  I  know 
about  mineral,  I  am  sure  that  one  piece  at  least  was 
rich;  high-grade,  if  ever  I  saw  any.  But  Casey 
merely  grunted  when  I  spoke  to  him  about  it. 

"  Maybe  it  is.  A  coupla  hundred  ounces,  say. 
What's  that,  even  with  silver  at  a  dollar  an  ounce? 
It  ain't  good  enough  for  Casey,  and  what  I'm 
wastin'  my  time  for,  wearing  the  heels  off'n  my 
shoes  prospectin'  Starvation,  is  somethin'  I  can't 
tell  yuh."  He  looked  at  me  with  his  pale-blue,  un 
winking  stare  for  a  minute. 

"  Er  —  I  can  —  and  I  guess  the  quicker  it's  out 
the  better  I'll  feel." 

He  took  out  his  familiar  plug  of  tobacco,  always 
nibbled  around  the  edges,  always  half  the  size  of  his 
four  fingers.  I  never  saw  Casey  with  a  fresh  plug 
in  his  pocket,  and  I  never  saw  him  down  to  one 
chew;  it  is  one  of  the  little  mysteries  in  his  life 
that  I  never  quite  solved. 

"  I   been  thinkin'  about  that  devil's  lantern  we 


184  CASEY  RYAN 

seen  the  other  night,"  he  said,  when  he  had  returned 
to  his  pocket  the  plug  with  a  corner  gone. 
"  They's  something  funny  about  that  —  the  way  it 
went  over  there  and  stood  on  the  Tippipahs  again. 
I  ain't  sooperstitious.  But  I  can't  git  things  outa  my 
head.  I  want  to  go  hunt  fer  that  mine  of  Injun 
Jim's.  This  here  is  just  foolin'  around  —  huntin' 
silver.  I  want  to  see  where  that  free  gold  comes 
from  that  he  used  to  peddle.  It's  mine  —  by  rights. 
He  was  goin'  to  tell  me  where  it  v/as,  you  recollect, 
and  he  woulda  if  I  hadn't  overfed  him  on  jam  — 
or  if  that  damn  squaw  hadn't  took  a  notion  for 
marryin'.  I  let  her  stampede  me  —  and  that's 
where  I  was  wrong.  I  shoulda  stayed." 

I  was  foolish  enough  to  argue  with  him.  I  had 
talked  with  others  about  the  mine  of  Injun  Jim, 
and  one  man  (who  owned  cattle  and  called  mines  a 
gamble)  told  me  that  he  doubted  the  whole  story. 
A  prospectors'  bubble,  he  called  it.  Free  gold,  he 
insisted,  did  not  belong  in  this  particular  formation ; 
it  ran  in  porphyry,  he  said, —  and  then  he  ran  into 
mineralogy  too  technical  for  me  now.  I  repeated 
his  statement,  however,  and  saw  Casey  grin  toler 
antly. 

"  Gold  is  where  yuh  find  it,"  he  retorted,  and  spat 
after  a  hurrying  lizard.  "  They  said  gold  couldn't 
be  found  in  that  formation  around  Goldfield.  But 
they  found  it,  didn't  they?" 

Casey  looked  at  me  steadily  for  a  minute  and  then 
came  out  with  what  was  really  in  his  mind.  "  You 
stake  me  to  grub  and  a  couple  of  burros  an'  let  me 
go  hunt  the  Injun  Jim,  and  I'll  locate  yuh  in  on  it 


CASEY  RYAN  185 

when  I  find  it.  And  if  I  don't  find  it,  I'll  pay  yuh 
back  for  the  outfit.  And,  anyway,  you're  makin' 
money  off'n  my  bad  luck  right  along,  ain't  yuh? 
Wasn't  it  me  you  was  writin'  up,  these  last  few 
days?" 

"  I  was  —  er  —  reconsidering  that  devil's  lantern 
yarn  you  told  me,  Casey.  But  the  thing  doesn't 
work  out  right.  It  sounds  unfinished,  as  you  told 
it.  I  don't  know  that  I  can  do  anything  with  it, 
after  all."  I  was  truthful  with  him;  you  all  re 
member  that  I  was  dissatisfied  with  the  way  Casey 
ended  it.  Just  walking  back  across  the  desert  and 
quitting  the  search, —  it  lacked,  somehow,  the  dra 
matic  climax.  I  could  have  built  one,  of  course. 
But  I  wanted  to  test  out  my  theory  that  a  man  like 
Casey  will  live  a  complete  drama  if  he  is  left  alone. 
Casey  is  absolutely  natural;  he  goes  out  after  life 
without  waiting  for  it  to  come  to  him,  and  he  will 
forget  all  about  his  own  interests  to  help  a  stranger, 
—  and  above  all,  he  builds  his  castles  hopefully  as  a 
child  and  seeks  always  to  make  them  substantial 
structures  afterwards.  If  any  man  can  prove  my 
theory,  that  man  is  Casey  Ryan.  So  I  led  him  along 
to  say  what  dream  held  him  now. 

"Unfinished?  Sure  it's  unfinished!  I  quit, 
didn't  I  tell  yuh?  It  ain't  goin'  to  be  finished  till  I 
git  out  and  find  that  mine.  I  been  studyin'  things 
over.  I  never  seen  one  of  them  lights  till  I  started 
out  to  find  Injun  Jim's  mine.  If  I'd  a-gone  along 
with  no  bad  luck,  I  wouldn't  never  a-found  that  ten 
derfoot  camp,  would  I  ?  It  was  keepin'  the  light  at 
my  back  done  that  —  and  William  not  likin'  the  look 


i86  CASEY  RYAN 

of  it,  either.  And  you  gotta  admit  it  was  the  light 
mostly  that  scared  them  young  dudes  off  and  left 
me  the  things.  And  if  you'd  of  saw  Injun  Jim, 
you'd  of  known  same  as  I  that  it  was  the  jam  and 
the  silk  shirts  that  loosened  him  up.  Nothin'  in  my 
own  pack  coulda  won  him  over, — " 

"  It's  all  right  that  far,"  I  cut  in.  "  But  then  he 
died,  and  you  were  set  afoot  and  all  but  married  by 
as  venomous  a  creature  as  I  ever  heard  of,  and  the 
thing  stops  right  there,  Casey,  where  it  shouldn't." 

"  And  that's  what  I'm  kickin'  about !  Casey 
Ryan  ain't  the  man  to  let  it  stop  there.  I  been 
thinkin'  it  over  sence  that  devil's  lantern  showed  up 
again,  and  went  and  set  over  there  on  Tippipah. 
Mebby  I  misjudged  the  dog-gone  thing.  Mebby  it's 
settin'  somewheres  around  that  gold  mine.  Funny 
it  never  showed  up  no  other  time  and  no  other  place. 
I  been  travelin'  the  desert  off'n  on  all  my  life,  and 
I  never  seen  anything  like  it  before.  And  I  can  tell 
yuh  this  much:  I  been  wanting  that  mine  too  darn 
long  to  give  up  now.  If  you  don't  feel  like  stakin' 
me  for  the  trip,  I'll  go  back  to  Lund  and  have  a  talk 
with  Bill.  Bill's  a  good  old  scout  and  he'll  stake 
me  to  an  outfit,  anyway." 

That  was  merely  Casey's  inborn  optimism  speak 
ing.  Bill  was  a  good  old  scout,  all  right,  but  if  he 
would  grubstake  Casey  to  go  hunting  the  Injun  Jim 
mine,  then  Bill  had  changed  considerably. 

The  upshot  of  it  was  that  we  left  Starvation  the 
next  morning,  headed  for  town.  And  two  days 
after  that  I  had  pulled  myself  out  of  bed  at  daybreak 
to  walk  down  to  his  camp  under  the  mesquite  grove 


CASEY  RYAN  187 

just  outside  of  town.  I  drank  a  cup  of  coffee  with 
him  and  wished  him  luck.  Casey  did  not  talk  much. 
His  mind  was  all  taken  up  with  the  details  of  his 
starting, —  whether  to  trust  his"  water  cans  on  the 
brown  burro  or  the  gray,  and  whether  he  had  taken 
enough  "  cold  "  shoes  along  for  the  mule.  And  he 
set  down  his  cup  of  coffee  to  go  rummaging  in  a 
kyack  just  to  make  sure  that  he  had  the  hoof  rasp 
and  shoeing  hammer  safe. 

He  was  packed  and  moving  up  the  little  hill  out 
of  the  grove  before  the  sun  had  more  than  painted 
a  cloud  or  two  in  the  east.  A  dreamer  once  more 
gone  to  find  the  end  of  his  particular  rainbow,  I  told 
myself,  as  I  watched  him  out  of  sight.  I  must 
admit  that  I  hoped,  down  deep  in  the  heart  of  me, 
that  Casey  would  fall  into  some  other  unheard-of 
experience  such  as  had  been  his  portion  in  the  past. 
I  felt  much  more  certain  that  he  would  get  into  some 
scrape  than  I  did  that  he  would  find  the  Injun  Jim, 
and  I  was  grinning  inside  when  I  went  back  to  town ; 
though  there  was  a  bit  of  envy  in  the  smile, —  one 
must  always  envy  the  man  who  keeps  his  dreams 
through  all  the  years  and  banks  on  them  to  the  end. 
For  myself,  I  hadn't  chased  a  rainbow  for  thirty 
years,  and  I  could  not  call  myself  the  better  for  it, 
either. 

In  September  the  lower  desert  does  not  seem  to 
realize  that  summer  is  going.  The  wind  blows  a 
little  harder,  perhaps,  and  frequently  a  little  hotter; 
the  nights  are  not  quite  so  sweltering,  and  the  very 
sheets  on  one's  bed  do  not  feel  so  freshly  baked. 


i88  CASEY  RYAN 

But  up  on  the  higher  mesas  there  is  a  heady  quality 
to  the  wind  that  blows  fresh  in  your  face.  There  is 
an  Indian-summery  haze  like  a  thin  veil  over  the 
farthest  mountain  ranges.  Summer  is  with  you 
yet;  but  somehow  you  feel  that  winter  is  coming. 

In  a  country  all  gray  and  dull  yellow  and  brown, 
you  find  strange,  beautiful  tints  no  artist  has  yet 
prisoned  with  his  paints.  You  dream  in  spite  of 
yourself,  and  walk  through  a  world  no  more  than 
half  real,  a  world  peopled  with  your  thoughts. 

Casey  did,  when  the  burros  left  him  in  peace  long 
enough.  They  were  misleading,  pot-bellied  animals 
that  Casey  hazed  before  him  toward  the  Tippipahs. 
They  never  showed  more  than  slits  of  eyes  beneath 
their  drooping  lids,  yet  they  never  missed  seeing 
whatever  there  was  to  see,  and  taking  advantage  of 
every  absent-minded  moment  when  Casey  was  think 
ing  of  the  Injun  Jim,  perhaps.  They  were  fast- 
walking  burros  when  they  were  following  a  beaten 
trail  and  Casey  was  hard  upon  their  heels,  but  when 
his  attention  wandered  they  showed  a  remarkable 
amount  of  energy  in  finding  blind  trails  and  follow 
ing  them  into  some  impracticable  wash  where  Casey 
wasted  a  good  deal  of  time  in  extricating  them.  He 
said  he  never  saw  burros  that  hated  so  to  turn  around 
and  go  back  into  the  road,  and  he  never  saw  two  bur 
ros  get  out  of  sight  as  quickly  as  they  could  when 
they  thought  he  wasn't  watching.  They  would 
choose  different  directions  and  hide  from  him  sepa 
rately, —  but  once  was  enough  for  Casey.  He  lost 
them  both  for  an  hour  in  the  sand  pits  twelve  miles 
out  of  town,  and  after  that  he  tied  them  nose  to  tail 


CASEY  RYAN  189 

and  himself  held  a  rope  attached  to  the  hindmost, 
and  so  made  fair  time  with  them,  after  all. 

The  mule,  Casey  said,  was  just  plain  damn  mule, 
sloughed  off  from  the  army,  blase  beyond  words, — 
any  words  at  Casey's  command,  at  least.  A  lop- 
eared  buckskin  mule  with  a  hanging  lower  lip  and 
a  chronic  tail-switching,  that  shacked  along  hour 
after  hour  and  saved  Casey's  legs  and,  more  particu 
larly,  a  bunion  that  had  developed  in  the  past  year. 

Casey  knew  the  country  better  than  he  had  known 
it  on  his  first  unprofitable  trip  into  the  Tippipahs. 
He  avoided  Furnace  Lake,  keeping  well  around  the 
southern  rim  of  it  and  making  straight  for  Loco 
Canyon  and  the  spring  there  while  his  water  cans 
still  had  a  pleasant  slosh.  There  he  rested  his  long- 
ears  for  a  day,  and  disinterred  certain  tenderfoot 
luxuries  which  he  had  cached  when  he  was  there 
last  time.  And  when  he  set  out  again  he  went 
straight  on  to  the  old  stone  hut  where  Injun  Jim 
had  camped.  The  tepee  was  gone,  burned  down 
according  to  Indian  custom  after  a  death,  as  he  had 
expected.  The  herd  of  Indian  ponies  were  nowhere 
in  sight.  Hahnaga's  brother,  he  guessed,  had 
driven  them  off  long  ago. 

Casey  had  worked  out  a  theory,  bit  by  bit,  and 
with  characteristic  optimism  he  had  full  faith  that 
it  would  prove  a  fact  later  on.  He  wanted  to  start 
his  search  from  the  point  where  Injun  Jim  had 
started,  and  he  had  rather  a  plausible  reason  for  do 
ing  so. 

Injun  Jim  was  an  Indian  of  the  old  school,  and 
the  old  school  did  a  great  deal  of  its  talking  by  signs. 


190  CASEY  RYAN 

Casey  had  watched  Jim  with  that  pale,  unwinking- 
stare  that  misses  nothing  within  range,  and  he  had 
read  the  significance  of  Jim's  unconscious  gestures 
while  he  talked.  It  had  been  purely  subconscious; 
Casey  had  expected  the  exact  location  of  the  mine 
in  words,  and  perhaps  with  a  crudely  accurate  map 
of  Jim's  making.  But  now  he  remembered  Jim's 
words,  certain  motions  made  by  the  skinny  hands, 
and  from  them  he  laid  his  course. 

"  He  was  layin'  right  here  —  facin'  south,"  Casey 
told  himself,  squatting  on  his  heels  within  the  rock 
circle  that  marked  the  walls  of  the  tepee.  "  He 
said,  '  Got  heap  big  gol'  mine,  me  — '  and  he  turned 
his  hand  that  way."  Casey  squinted  at  the  distant 
blue  ridge  that  was  an  unnamed  spur  of  the  Tippi- 
pahs.  "  It's  far  enough  so  an  old  buck  like  him 
couldn't  make  it  very  well.  Fifteen  mile,  anyway 
—  mebby  twenty  or  twenty-five.  And  from  the 
sign  talk  he  made  whilst  he  was  talkin',  I'd  guess  it's 
nearer  twenty  than  fifteen.  There's  that  two-peak 
butte —  looks  like  that  would  be  about  right  for  dis 
tance.  And  it's  dead  iin  line  —  them  old  bucks 
don't  waggle  their  hands  permiskus  when  they  talk. 
Old  Jim  woulda  laid  on  his  hands  if  he'd  knowed 
what  they  was  tellin'  me;  but  even  an  ornery  old 
devil  like  him  gits  careless  when  they  git  old.  Casey 
hits  straight  fer  Two  Peak." 

That's  the  way  he  got  his  bearings ;  just  remem 
bering  the  unguarded  motion  of  Injun  Jim's  grimy 
hand  and  adding  thereto  his  superficial  knowledge 
of  the  country  and  his  own  estimate  of  what  an  old 
fellow  like  Jim  could  call  a  long  journey.  With 


CASEY  RYAN  191 

this  and  the  unquestioning  faith  in  his  dream  that 
was  a  part  of  him,  Casey  threw  his  favorite  "  pack 
er's  hitch  "  across  the  packed  burros  at  dawn  next 
morning,  boarded  his  buckskin  mule  and  set  off 
hopefully  across  the  barren  valley,  heading  straight 
for  the  distant  butte  he  called  Two  Peak. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

I  don't  suppose  Casey  Ryan  ever  started  out  to 
do  something  for  himself  —  something  he  consid 
ered  important  to  his  own  personal  welfare  and  hap 
piness  —  without  running  straight  into  some  other 
fellow's  business  and  stopping  to  lend  a  hand.  He 
says  he  can't  remember  being  left  alone  at  any  time 
in  his  life  to  follow  the  beckoning  finger  of  his  own 
particular  destiny. 

Casey  had  made  camp  that  night  in  one  of  several 
deep  gulches  that  ridged  the  butte  with  two  peaks. 
We  had  been  lucky  in  our  burro  buying,  and  he 
had  two  of  the  fastest  walking  jacks  in  the  country, 
so  that  he  was  able  to  give  them  a  good  long  noon 
ing  and  still  reach  the  foot  of  the  butte  and  make 
camp  well  before  sundown.  For  the  first  time  since 
he  first  heard  of  the  Injun  Jim  gold  mine,  Casey  felt 
that  he  was  really  "  squared  away  "  to  the  search. 
As  he  sat  there  blowing  his  unhurried  breath  upon 
a  blue  granite  cup  of  coffee  to  cool  it,  his  memory 
slanted  back  along  the  years  when  he  had  said  that 
some  day  he  would  go  and  hunt  for  the  Injun  Jim 
mine  that  was  so  rich  a  ten-pound  lard  bucket  full 
of  the  ore  had  been  known  to  yield  five  hundred  dol 
lars'  worth  of  gold.  Well,  it  had  been  a  long  time 
since  he  first  said  that  to  himself,  but  here  he  was, 
and  to-morrow  he  would  begin  his  search  with  day- 


CASEY  RYAN  193 

light,  starting  with  this  gulch  he  was  in  and  work 
ing  methodically  over  every  foot  of  Two  Peak. 

He  took  two  long,  satisfying  swallows  of  coffee 
and  poised  the  cup  and  listened.  After  a  minute 
had  gone  in  that  way,  he  finished  the  coffee  in  gulps 
and  stood  up,  dangling  the  empty  cup  with  a  finger 
crooked  in  the  handle.  From  somewhere  not  more 
than  a  long  rifle-shot  away,  a  Ford  was  coughing 
under  full  pressure  of  gas  and  with  at  least  one  dirty 
spark  plug  to  give  it  a  spasmodic  stutter.  While 
Casey  stood  there  listening,  the  stutter  slowed  and 
stopped  with  one  wheezy  cough.  That  was  all. 

"  They'll  have  to  clean  up  her  hootin'-annies  be 
fore  they  git  outa  here,"  Casey  observed  shrewdly, 
having  intimate  and  sometimes  unpleasant  knowl 
edge  of  Fords  and  their  peculiar  ailments.  "  And 
I  wonder  what  the  sufferin'  Chris'mas  they're  doin' 
here,  anyway.  If  it's  huntin'  the  Injun  Jim  they're 
after,  the  quicker  they  scrape  the  sut  off  them  ding 
bats  and  git  outa  here,  the  healthier  they'll  ride. 
You  ask  anybody  if  Casey  Ryan's  liable  to  back  up 
now  he's  on  the  ground  and  squared  away ! " 

He  stood  there  uneasily  for  a  minute  or  two 
longer,  caught  a  whiff  of  his  bacon  scorching  and 
stooped  to  its  rescue.  Then  he  fried  a  bannock 
hastily  in  the  bacon  grease,  folded  two  slices  of 
bacon  within  it  and  ate  in  a  hurry,  keeping  an  ear 
cocked  for  any  further  sounds  from  the  concealed 
car. 

He  finished  eating  without  having  heard  more 
and  piled  his  dishes  without  washing  them.  I  don't 
suppose  he  had  used  more  than  ten  minutes  at  the 


194  CASEY  RYAN 

longest  in  eating  his  supper.  That  was  about  the 
limit  of  Casey's  inaction  when  he  smelled  a  mystery 
or  a  scrap.  This  had  the  elements  of  both,  and  he 
started  out  forthwith  to  trail  down  the  Ford,  wiping 
crumbs  from  his  mouth  and  getting  out  his  plug  of 
tobacco  as  he  went. 

In  broken  country  sounds  are  deceptive  as  to 
direction,  but  Casey  was  lucky  enough  to  walk 
straight  toward  the  spot,  which  was  over  a  hump  in 
the  gulch,  a  sort  of  backbone  dividing  it  in  two  nar 
row  branches  there  at  its  mouth.  He  had  noticed 
when  he  rode  toward  it  that  it  was  ridged  in  the 
middle,  and  had  chosen  the  left-hand  branch  for  no 
reason  at  all  except  that  it  happened  to  be  a  little 
smoother  traveling  for  his  animals. 

He  topped  the  ridge  and  came  full  upon  a  camp 
below,  almost  within  calling  distance  from  where  he 
first  sighted  it.  There  was  a  stone  hut  that  could 
not  possibly  contain  more  than  two  small  rooms, 
and  there  was  a  tent  pitched  not  far  away.  There 
seemed  to  be  a  spring  just  beyond  the  cabin.  Casey 
saw  the  silver  gleam  of  water  there,  and  a  strip  of 
green  grass,  and  a  juniper  bush  or  two. 

But  these  details  were  not  important  at  the  mo 
ment.  What  sent  him  down  the  hill  in  an  uneven 
trot  was  a  group  of  three  that  stood  beside  a  car. 
From  their  voices,  and  the  gestures  that  were  being 
made,  here  was  a  quarrel  building  rapidly  into  a 
fight.  To  prove  it  the  smallest  person  in  the  group 
suddenly  whipped  out  a  revolver  and  pointed  it  at 
the  two.  Casey  saw  the  reddening  sunlight  strike 
upon  the  barrel  with  a  brief  shine,  instantly 


CASEY  RYAN  195 

quenched  when  the  gun  was  thrust  forward  toward 
the  other  two  whom  it  threatened. 

"  You  get  out  of  my  camp  and  out  of  my  sight 
just  as  fast  as  your  legs  can  take  you.  This  car 
belongs  to  me,  and  you're  not  going  to  touch  it. 
You've  got  your  wages  —  more  than  your  wages, 
you  great  hulking  shirks !  A  fine  exhibition  you're 
making  of  yourselves,  I  must  say!  You  thought 
you  could  bluff  me  —  that  I'd  stand  meekly  by  and 
let  you  two  bullies  have  your  own  way  about  it,  did 
you?  You  even  waited  until  you  had  gorged  your 
selves  on  food  you've  never  earned,  before  you 
started  your  highwaymen  performance.  You  made 
sure  of  one  more  good,  meal,  you  —  you  hogs. 
Now  go,  before  I  empty  this  gun  into  the  two  of 
you!" 

Casey  stopped,  puffing  a  little,  I  suppose.  He  is 
not  so  young  as  when  they  called  him  the  Fightin' 
Stagedriver,  and  he  had  done  his  long  day  of  travel. 
The  three  did  not  know  that  he  was  there,  they  were 
so  busy  with  their  quarrel.  The  woman's  voice  was 
sharp  with  contempt,  but  it  was  not  loud  and  there 
was  not  a  tremble  in  any  tone  of  it.  The  gun  she 
held  was  steady  in  her  hand,  but  one  man  snarled 
at  her  and  one  man  laughed.  It  was  the  kind  of 
laugh  a  woman  would  hate  to  hear  from  a  man  she 
was  defying. 

"  Aw,  puddown  the  popgun !  Nobody's  scared  of 
it  —  er  you.  It  ain't  loaded,  and  if  it  was  loaded 
you  couldn't  hit  nothin'.  No  need  to  be  scared 
'long's  a  woman's  pointing  a  gun  at  yuh.  Crank  'er 
up,  agin,  Ole.  Don't  worry  none  about  her.  She 


196  CASEY  RYAN 

can't  stop  nothin',  not  even  her  jawin'.     Go  awn, 
start  the  damn  Lizzie  an'  let's  go." 

Ole  bent  to  the  cranking,  then  complained  that  the 
switch  must  be  off.  His  companion  growled  that 
it  was  nothing  of  the  kind  and  kept  his  narrowed 
gaze  fixed  upon  the  woman. 

She  spied  Casey  standing  there,  a  few  rods  be 
yond  the  car.  The  gun  dropped  in  her  hand  so 
that  its  aim  was  no  longer  direct.  The  man  who 
faced  her  jumped  and  caught  her  wrist,  and  the  gun 
went  off,  the  bullet  singing  ten  feet  above  Casey's 
head. 

A  little  girl  with  flaxen  curls  and  patched  over 
alls  on  screamed  and  rushed  up  to  the  man,  gripping 
him  furiously  around  the  legs  just  above  the  knees 
and  trying  her  little  best  to  shake  him.  "  You. 
leave  my  mamma  alone !  "  she  cried  shrilly. 

Casey  took  a  hand  then, —  a  hand  with  a  rock  in 
it,  I  must  explain.  He  managed  to  kick  Ole  harshly 
in  the  ribs,  sending  him  doubled  sidewise  and  yelp 
ing,  as  he  passed  him.  He  laid  the  other  man  out 
senseless  with  the  rock  which  landed  precisely  on  the 
back  of  the  head  just  under  his  hat. 

The  woman  —  Casey  had  mistaken  her  for  a  man 
at  first,  because  she  wore  bib  overalls  and  had  her 
hair  bobbed  and  a  man's  hat  on  —  dropped  the  gun 
and  held  her  wrist  that  showed  angry  red  finger 
prints.  She  smiled  at  Casey  exactly  as  if  nothing 
much  had  happened. 

"  Thank  you  very  much  indeed.  I  was  begin 
ning  to  wonder  how  I  was  going  to  manage  the  sit 
uation.  It  was  growing  rather  awkward,  because 


CASEY  RYAN  197 

I  should  have  been  compelled  to  shoot  them  both,  I 
expect,  before  I  was  through.  And  I  dreaded  a 
mess.  Wounded,  I  should  have  had  them  on  my 
hands  to  take  care  of  —  their  great  hulks!  —  and 
dead  I  should  have  had  to  bury  them,  and  I  detest 
digging  in  this  rocky  soil.  You  really  did  me  a  very 
great  — " 

Her  eyes  ranged  to  something  behind  Casey  and 
widened  at  what  they  saw.  Casey  whirled  about, 
ducked  a  hurtling  monkey  wrench  and  rushed  Ole, 
who  was  getting  up  awkwardly,  his  eyes  malevolent. 
He  made  a  very  thorough  job  of  thrashing  Ole,  and 
finished  by  knocking  him  belly  down  over  the  un- 
hooded  engine  of  the  Ford. 

"  I  hope  Jawn  doesn't  suffer  from  that,"  the  little 
woman  commented  whimsically.  "  Babe,  run  and 
get  that  rope  over  there  and  take  it  to  the  gentleman 
so  he  can  tie  Ole's  hands  together.  Then  he  can't 
be  naughty  any  more.  Hurry,  Baby  Girl." 

Baby  Girl  hurried,  her  curls  whipping  around  her 
face  as  she  ran.  She  brought  a  coil  of  cotton 
clothesline  to  Casey,  looking  up  at  him  with  wide, 
measuring  eyes  of  a  tawny  shade  like  sunlight  shin 
ing  through  thin  brown  silk.  "  I  wish  you'd  give 
Joe  a  beating  too,"  she  said  with  grave  earnestness. 
"  He's  a  badder  man  than  Ole.  He  hurt  my  mam 
ma.  Will  you  give  Joe  a  beating  and  tie  his  naughty 
hands  jus'  like  that  when  he  wakes  up?  "  She  lifted 
her  plump  little  body  on  her  scuffed  toes,  her  brown, 
dimpled  fingers  clutching  the  radiator  to  hold  her 
steady  while  she  watched  Casey  tie  Ole's  naughty 
hands  behind  his  back. 


198  CASEY  RYAN 

"  Now  will  you  tie  Joe's  naughty  hands  jus'  like 
that?  Don't  use  up  all  the  rope!  My  mamma 
hasn't  got  any  more  rope,  and  you  have  to  tie  — " 

"Babe!  Come  over  here  and  don't  bother  the 
gentleman.  Stand  away  over  there  so  you  can't 
hear  the  naughty  words  Ole  is  saying."  The  little 
woman  smiled,  but  not  much.  Casey,  glancing  up 
from  the  last  efficient  knot,  felt  suddenly  sorry  that 
he  had  not  first  gagged  Ole.  Casey  had  not  thought 
of  it  before;  mere  cussing  was  natural  to  him  as 
breathing,  and  he  had  scarcely  been  aware  of  the 
fact  that  Ole  was  speaking.  Now  he  cuffed  the 
Swede  soundly  and  told  him  to  shut  up,  and  yanked 
him  off  the  car. 

"  Joe  is  regaining  consciousness.  He'll  be  nasty 
to  handle  as  a  rabid  coyote  if  you  wait  much  longer. 
Just  cut  the  rope.  It's  my  clothesline,  but  we  must 
not  balk  at  trifles  in  a  crisis  like  this."  The  little 
woman  had  recovered  her  gun  and  was  holding  it 
ready  for  Joe  in  case  the  predicted  rabidness  be 
came  manifest. 

Casey  tied  Joe  very  thoroughly  while  conscious 
ness  was  slowly  returning.  The  situation  ceased  to 
be  menacing ;  it  became  safe  and  puzzling  and  even  a 
bit  mysterious.  Casey  reached  for  his  plug,  remem 
bered  his  manners  and  took  away  his  hand.  Robbed 
of  his  customary  inspiration  he  stood  undecided, 
scowling  at  the  feebly  blinking  ruffian  called  Joe. 

"  It's  very  good  of  you  not  to  ask  what  it's  all 
about,"  said  the  little  woman,  taking  off  the  man's 
hat  and  shaking  back  her  hair  like  a  schoolgirl.  "  I 
have  some  mining  claims  here  —  four  of  them. 


CASEY  RYAN  199 

My  husband  left  them  to  me,  and  since  that's  all  he 
did  leave  I  have  been  keeping  up  the  assessment 
work  every  year.  Last  year  I  had  enough  money 
to  buy  Jawn."  She  nodded  toward  the  Ford.  "  I 
outfitted  and  came  out  here  with  an  old  fellow  I'd 
known  for  years,  kept  camp  until  he'd  done  the 
assessment  work,  and  paid  him  off  and  that  was  all 
there  was  to  it. 

"  This  summer  the  old  man  is  prospecting  the 
New  Jerusalem,  I  expect.  He  died  in  April.  I 
hired  these  two  scoundrels.  I  was  foolish  enough 
to  pay  half  their  wages  in  advance,  because  they 
told  me  a  tale  of  owing  money  to  a  widow  for  board 
and  wanting  to  pay  her.  I  have,"  she  observed,  "  a 
weakness  for  widows.  And  they  have  just  pre 
tended  to  be  working  the  claims.  I  hurt  my  ankle 
so  that  I  haven't  been  able  to  walk  far  for  a  month, 
and  they  took  advantage  of  it  and  have  been  pros 
pecting  around  on  their  own  account,  at  my  ex 
pense,  while  I  religiously  marked  down  their  time 
and  fed  them.  They  have  located  four  claims  ad 
joining  mine,  and  put  up  their  monuments  and  done 
their  location  work  in  the  past  month,  if  you  please, 
while  I  supposed  they  were  working  for  me." 

"  D'they  locate  you  in  on  'em  ?  " 

"  Locate  me  —  in  ?  You  mean,  as  a  partner  ? 
They  emphatically  did  not !  I  went  up  to  the  claims 
to-day,  saw  that  they  had  not  done  a  thing  since  the 
last  time  I  was  there ;  they  had  even  taken  away  my 
tools.  So  we  tracked  them,  Baby  and  I,  and  found 
their  location  monuments  just  over  the  hill,  and  saw 
where  they  had  been  working.  So  to-night  I  asked 


200  CASEY  RYAN 

them  about  it,  and  they  were  very  defiant  and  very 
cool  and  decided  that  they  were  through  out  here 
and  would  go  to  town.  They  were  borrowing  Jawn 
—  so  they  said.  I  was  objecting,  naturally.  I  was 
quite  against  being  left  alone  out  here,  afoot,  with 
Babe  on  my  hands.  It  will  soon  be  coming  on  cold," 
she  said.  "  I'd  have  been  in  a  fine  predicament, 
with  supplies  for  only  about  a  month  longer.  And  I 
must  get  the  assessment  work  done,  too,  you  know." 

"  D'you  want  'em  to  stay  and  finish  your  work?  " 
Casey  reached  out  with  his  foot  and  pushed  Joe 
down  upon  his  back  again. 

The  little  woman  looked  down  at  Joe  and  across 
at  Ole  by  the  car.  "  No,  thank  you.  I  should  un 
doubtedly  put  strychnine  in  their  coffee  if  they 
stayed,  I  should  hate  the  sight  of  them  so.  I  have 
some  that  I  brought  for  the  pack  rats.  No,  I  don't 
want  them  — " 

She  had  sounded  very  cool  and  calm,  and  she  had 
impressed  Casey  as  being  quite  as  fearless  as  him 
self.  But  now  he  caught  a  trembling  in  her  voice, 
and  he  distinctly  saw  her  lip  quiver.  He  was  so 
disturbed  that  he  went  over  and  slapped  Ole  again 
and  told  him  to  shut  up,  though  Ole  was  not  saying 
a  word. 

"  Where's  their  bed-rolls  ?  "  Casey  asked,  when  he 
turned  toward  her  again.  She  pointed  to  the  tent, 
and  Casey  went  and  dragged  forth  the  packed  be 
longings  of  the  two.  It  was  perfectly  plain  that 
they  had  deliberately  planned  their  desertion,  for 
everything  was  ready  to  load  into  the  car. 

Casey  went  staggering  to  the  Ford,  dumped  the 


CASEY  RYAN  201 

canvas  rolls  in  and  yanked  Ole  up  by  the  collar,  pro 
pelling  him  into  the  tonneau.  Then  he  came  after 
Joe. 

"If  you  can  drive,  you'll  mebby  feel  better  if  yuh 
go  along,"  he  said  to  the  woman.  "  I'm  goin'  to 
haul  'em  far  enough  sos't  they  won't  feel  like  walkin' 
back  to  bother  yuh,  and  seein'  you  don't  know  me, 
mebby  you  better  do  the  drivin'.  Then  you'll  know 
I  ain't  figurin'  on  stealin'  your  car  and  makin'  a 
getaway." 

"  I  can  drive,  of  course,"  she  acquiesced.  "  Not 
that  I'd  be  afraid  to  trust  Jawn  with  you,  but  they're 
treacherous  devils,  those  two,  and  they  might  man 
age  somehow  to  make  you  trouble  if  you  go  alone. 
Jawn  is  a  temperamental  car,  and  he  demands  all 
of  one's  attention  at  times." 

She  walked  over  to  the  car,  reached  out  in  the 
gathering  dusk  and  fingered  the  carburetor  adjust 
ment.  "  When  they  first  revealed  their  plan  of 
making  away  with  Jawn,"  she  drawled,  "  I  came 
up  like  this  and  remonstrated.  And  while  I  did  so 
I  reached  over  and  turned  the  screw  and  shut  off  the 
gas  feed.  Jawn  balked  with  them,  of  course  —  but 
they  never  guessed  why !  " 

The  two  in  the  tonneau  muttered  something  in 
undertones  while  the  little  woman  smiled  at  them 
contemptuously.  Casey  thought  that  was  pretty 
smart  —  to  stall  the  car  so  they  couldn't  get  away 
with  it  —  but  he  did  not  tell  her  so.  There  was 
something  about  the  little  woman  which  restrained 
him  from  talking  freely  and  speaking  his  mind 
.bluntly  as  was  his  habit. 


202  CASEY  RYAN 

He  cranked  the  car,  waited  until  she  had  the  ad 
justment  correct,  and  then  went  back  and  stood  on 
the  running  board,  holding  with  his  left  hand  to  a 
brace  of  the  top  and  keeping  his  right  free  in  case 
he  should  need  it.  The  little  woman  helped  the  little 
girl  into  the  front  seat,  slid  her  own  small  person 
behind  the  wheel  and  glanced  round  inquiringly, 
with  a  flattering  recognition  of  his  masculine  right 
to  command. 

"Just  head  towards  town  and  keep  a-going  till 
I  say  when,"  he  told  her,  and  she  nodded  and  sent 
Jawn  careening  down  over  the  rough  tracks  which 
Casey  had  missed  by  a  quarter  of  a  mile  or  less. 

She  could  drive,  Casey  admitted,  almost  as  reck 
lessly  as  he  could.  He  had  all  he  wanted  to  do, 
hanging  on  without  being  snapped  off  at  some  of 
the  sharp  turns  she  made.  The  road  wandered 
down  the  valley  for  ten  miles,  crept  over  a  ridge, 
then  dove  headlong  into  another  wide,  shallow  val 
ley  seamed  with  washes  and  deep  cuts.  The  little 
woman  never  eased  her  pace  except  when  there  was 
imminent  danger  of  turning  Jawn  bottomside  up  in 
a  wash.  So  in  a  comparatively  short  time  they 
were  over  two  summits  and  facing  the  distant  out 
line  of  Crazy  Woman  Hills.  They  had  come, 
Casey  judged,  about  twenty  miles,  and  they  had  been 
away  from  camp  less  than  an  hour. 

Casey  leaned  forward  and  spoke  to  the  woman, 
and  she  stopped  the  car  obediently.  Casey  pulled 
open  the  door  and  motioned,  and  the  Swede  came 
stumbling  out,  sullenly  followed  by  Joe,  who  mut 
tered  thickly  that  he  was  sick  and  that  the  back  of 


CASEY  RYAN  203 

his  head  was  caved  in.  Casey  did  not  reply,  but 
heaved  their  bedding  out  after  them.  With  the  little 
woman  holding  her  gun  at  full  aim,  he  untied  the 
two  and  frugally  stowed  the  rope  away  in  the  car. 

"  Now,  you  git,"  he  ordered  them  sternly. 
"  There's  four  of  us  camped  just  acrost  the  ridge 
from  this  lady's  place,  and  we'll  sure  keep  plenty  of 
eyes  out.  If  you  got  any  ideas  about  taking  the 
back  trail,  you  better  think  agin,  both  of  yuh. 
You'd  never  git  within  shootin'  distance  of  this 
lady's  camp.  I'm  Casey  Ryan  that's  speakin'  to 
yuh.  You  ask  anybody  about  me.  Git !  " 

Sourly  they  shouldered  their  bed-rolls  and  went 
limping  down  the  trail,  and  when  their  forms  were 
only  blurs  beyond  the  shine  of  the  headlights,  the 
little  woman  churned  Jawn  around  somehow  in  the 
sand  and  drove  back  quite  as  recklessly  as  she  had 
come.  Casey,  bouncing  alone  in  the  rear  seat,  did  a 
great  deal  of  thinking,  but  I  don't  believe  he  spoke 
once. 

"  Casey  Ryan,  I  have  never  had  much  reason  for 
feeling  gratitude  toward  a  man,  but  I  am  truly  grate 
ful  to  you.  You  are  a  man  and  a  gentleman."  The 
little  woman  had  driven  close  to  the  stone  cabin 
and  had  turned  and  rested  her  arm  along  the  back  of 
the  front  seat,  half  supporting  the  sleeping  child 
while  she  looked  full  at  Casey.  She  had  left  the 
engine  running,  probably  for  sake  of  the  headlights, 
and  her  eyes  shone  dark  and  bright  in  the  crisp 
starlight. 

"  'Tain't  worth  mentioning"  Casey  protested  awk 
wardly,  and  got  out. 


204  CASEY  RYAN 

"  I've  been  wondering  if  I  could  get  a  couple  of 
you  men  to  do  the  work  on  my  claims,"  she  went 
on.  "  I'm  paying  four  dollars  and  board,  and  it 
would  be  a  great  nuisance  to  make  the  long  trip  to 
town  and  find  a  couple  of  men  I  would  dare  trust. 
In  fact,  it's  going  to  be  pretty  hard  for  me  to  trust 
any  one,  after  this  experience.  If  you  men  can 
take  the  time  from  your  own  business — " 

"  I  don't  know  about  the  rest,"  Casey  hedged  un 
comfortably.  "  They  was  figurin'  on  doing  some 
thing  else.  But  I  guess  I  could  finish  up  the  work 
for  yuh,  all  right.  How  deep  is  your  shaft?  " 

"  It's  a  tunnel,"  she  corrected.  "  My  husband 
started  four  years  ago  to  drift  in  to  the  contact. 
He'd  gone  fifty  feet  when  he  died.  I  don't  know 
that  I'll  strike  the  body  of  ore  when  I  do  reach  the 
contact,  but  it's  the  only  hope.  I'm  working  the 
four  claims  as  a  group,  and  the  tunnel  is  now  eighty 
feet.  Those  two  brigands  have  wasted  a  month  for 
me,  or  it  would  be  a  hundred.  One  man  can  man 
age,  though  of  course  it's  slower  and  harder.  I 
have  powder  enough,  unless  they  stole  it  from  me. 
They  did  about  five  feet  all  told,  and  tore  down  part 
of  my  wall,  I  discovered  to-day,  chasing  a  stringer 
of  fairly  rich  ore,  thinking,  I  suppose,  that  it  would 
lead  to  a  pocket.  The  old  man  I  had  last  year  found 
a  pocket  of  high  grade  that  netted  me  a  thousand 
dollars." 

Casey  threw  up  his  head.     "  Gold  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Mostly  silver.  I  sent  a  truck  out  from  town 
after  the  ore,  shipped  it  by  express  and  still  made  a 
thousand  dollars  clear.  There  wasn't  quite  a  ton 


CASEY  RYAN  205 

and  a  half  of  it,  though.  You'll  come,  then,  and 
work  for  me?  I  wish  you  could  persuade  one  of 
your  partners  to  help.  It's  getting  well  into  Sep 
tember  already." 

"  I  wouldn't  depend  on  'em,"  Casey  demurred  un 
comfortably.  "  I  can  do  it  alone.  And  I'll  board 
m'self,  if  you'd  ruther.  I've  got  grub  enough.  I 
guess  I  better  be  gittin'  along  back  to  camp  —  if 
you  ain't  afraid  to  stay  alone.  Them  two  couldn't 
git  back  much  b'fore  daylight,  if  they  run  all  the 
way ;  and  by  that  time  I'll  be  up  and  on  the  lookout," 
and  Casey  swung  off  without  waiting  for  an  answer. 


CHAPTER  XX 

Casey  was  out  of  his  blankets  long  before  day 
light  the  next  morning  and  sitting  behind  a  bush  on 
the  ridge  just  back  of  the  cabin,  his  rifle  across  his 
knees.  He  hoped  that  his  mention  of  three  other 
men  would  discourage  those  two  from  the  attempt 
to  revenge  themselves,  much  as  a  lone  woman  would 
tempt  them.  But  he  was  not  going  to  take  any 
risk  whatever. 

At  sunrise  he  went  back  to  his  camp  —  which  he 
had  moved  closer  to  the  cabin,  by  the  way,  just 
barely  keeping  it  out  of  sight  —  and  cooked  a  hasty 
breakfast.  When  he  returned  the  little  woman  was 
ready  to  show  him  her  claims,  and  she  seemed  to 
have  forgotten  those  two  who  had  been  so  ignomini- 
ously  hauled  away  and  dropped  like  unwanted  cats 
beside  the  road.  She  inquired  again  about  Casey's 
partners,  and  Casey  lied  once  more  and  said  that 
they  had  gone  on  over  the  range,  prospecting. 

I  don't  know  why  he  did  not  tell  the  little  woman 
that  he  had  lied  to  Ole  and  Joe  and  let  it  go  at  that. 
But  he  seemed  to  dread  having  her  discover  that  he 
had  lied  at  all,  and  so  he  kept  on  lying  about  those 
three  imaginary  men.  Perhaps  he  had  a  chivalrous 
instinct  that  she  would  feel  safer,  more  at  ease,  if 
she  thought  that  others  were  somewhere  near.  At 
any  rate  he  did  not  tell  her  that  his  only  partners 
were  two  burros  and  a  mule. 


CASEY  RYAN  207 

I  don't  know  what  the  little  woman's  opinion  of 
Casey  was,  except  that  in  the  first  enthusiasm  of  her 
gratitude  to  him  she  had  called  him  a  man  and  a 
gentleman.  She  drove  a  bargain  with  him,  as  she 
supposed.  She  would  pay  him  so  much  more  per 
day  if  he  preferred  to  board  himself,  and  having 
named  the  amount,  Casey  waited  two  minutes,  as  if 
he  were  meditating  upon  the  matter,  and  then  replied 
that  it  suited  him  all  right. 

Casey  did  not  think  much  of  her  claims,  though 
he  did  not  tell  her  so.  In  his  opinion  that  tunnel 
should  have  been  driven  into  the  hill  at  a  different 
point,  where  the  indications  of  mineral  were  much 
stronger  and  the  distance  to  the  contact  much  less. 
A  light,  varying  vein  had  been  followed  at  an  in 
cline,  and  Casey,  working  alone,  was  obliged  to 
wheel  every  pound  of  dirt  up  a  rather  steep  grade 
to  the  dump  outside.  The  rock  was  hard  to  work 
in,  so  that  it  took  him  a  full  half  a  day  to  put  in  four 
shots,  and  then  he  would  be  likely  to  find  that  they 
had  "  bootlegged."  The  tunnel  also  faced  the  south, 
from  where  the  wind  nearly  always  blew,  so  that 
the  gas  and  smoke  from  his  shots  would  hang  in 
there  sometimes  for  a  full  twenty-four  hours,  mak 
ing  it  impossible  for  him  to  work. 

The  little  woman  seemed  slightly  surprised  when 
Casey  told  her,  at  the  end  of  the  first  week,  to  knock 
off  three  days  on  account  of  gas.  She  and  the  little 
girl  came  to  his  camp  next  day  and  brought  Casey 
a  loaf  of  light  bread  and  interrupted  him  in  the  act 
of  shaving.  The  little  woman  looked  at  the  two 
burros  and  at  the  mule,  measured  the  camp  outfit 


208  CASEY  RYAN 

with  her  keen  gray  eyes,  looked  at  Casey  who  had 
nicked  his  chin,  and  became  thoughtful. 

After  that  she  stopped  calling  him  Mr.  Ryan  and 
addressed  him  as  Casey  Ryan  instead,  with  a  little 
teasing  inflection  in  her  voice.  Once  Casey  hap 
pened  to  mention  Lund,  and  when  he  saw  her  look 
of  surprise  he  explained  that  he  drove  a  stage  out  of 
Lund,  for  awhile. 

"  Oh !  So  you  are  that  Casey  Ryan !  "  she  said. 
"  I  might  have  known  it."  She  laughed  to  herself, 
but  she  did  not  say  why,  and  Casey  was  afraid  to 
ask.  He  could  remember  so  many  incidents  in  his 
past  that  he  would  not  want  the  little  woman  to 
know  about,  and  he  was  afraid  that  it  might  be  one 
of  them  at  which  she  was  laughing. 

She  formed  the  habit  of  coming  up  to  the  tunnel 
every  day,  with  Babe  chattering  along  beside  her, 
swinging  herself  on  her  mother's  hand.  At  first  she 
said  whimsically  that  she  had  found  it  best  to  keep 
an  eye  on  her  miners,  as  if  that  explained  her  com 
ing.  But  she  always  had  something  good  to  eat  or 
drink.  Once  she  brought  a  small  bucket  of  hot 
chocolate,  which  Casey  gulped  down  heroically  and 
smacked  his  lips  afterwards.  Casey  hated  choco 
late,  too,  so  I  think  you  may  take  it  for  granted  that 
by  then  he  was  a  goner. 

He  used  to  smoke  his  pipe  and  watch  the  little 
woman  and  Babe  go  "  high-grading "  along  the 
tunnel  wall.  That  was  what  she  called  it  and  pre 
tended  that  she  expected  to  find  very  rich  ore  con 
cealed  somewhere.  It  struck  him  one  day,  quite 
suddenly,  that  the  Little  Woman  (I  may  as  well 


CASEY  RYAN  209 

begin  to  use  capitals,  because  Casey  always  called 
her  that  in  his  mind,  and  the  capitals  were  growing 
bigger  every  day)  the  Little  Woman  never  seemed 
to  notice  his  smoking,  or  to  realize  that  it  is  a  filthy 
habit  and  immoral  and  degrading,  as  that  other 
woman  had  done. 

He  began  to  notice  other  things,  too;  that  the 
Little  Woman  helped  him  a  lot,  on  afternoons  when 
help  was  most  likely  to  be  appreciated.  She  some 
times  "  put  down  a  hole  "  all  by  herself,  skinning  a 
knuckle  now  and  then  with  the  lightest  "  single- 
jack  "  and  saying  "  darn! "  quite  as  a  matter  of 
course. 

And  once,  when  the  rock  was  particularly  hard, 
she  happened  along  and  volunteered  to  turn  the  drill 
while  Casey  used  the  "  double-jack  ",  which  I  sup 
pose  you  know  is  the  big  hammer  that  requires  two 
hands  to  pound  the  drill  while  another  turns  it 
slightly  after  each  blow,  so  that  the  bitted  end  will 
chew  its  way  into  hard  rock. 

You  aren't  all  of  you  miners,  so  I  will  explain 
further  that  to  drill  into  rock  with  a  double- jack 
and  steel  drill  is  not  sport  for  greenhorns  exactly. 
The  drill-turner  needs  a  lot  of  faith  and  a  little 
nerve,  because  one  blow  of  the  double-jack  may 
break  a  hand  clasped  just  below  the  head  of  the 
drill.  And  the  man  with  the  double-jack  needs  a 
steady  nerve,  too,  and  some  experience  in  swinging 
the  big  hammer  true  to  the  head  of  the  drill, —  unless 
he  enjoys  cracking  another  man's  bones. 

Casey  Ryan  prides  himself  upon  being  able  to 
Swing  a  double-jack  as  well  as  any  man  in  the  coun- 


2io  CASEY  RYAN 

try.  It  is  his  boast  that  he  never  yet  broke  the  skin 
on  the  hand  of  his  drill-turner.  So  I  shall  have  to 
let  you  take  it  for  granted  that  the  Little  Woman's 
presence  and  help  was  more  unnerving  than  a  wild 
cat  on  Casey's  back.  For,  while  the  first,  second 
and  third  blows  fell  true  on  the  drill,  the  fourth  went 
wild.  Casey  owns  that  he  was  in  a  cold  sweat  for 
fear  he  might  hit  her.  So  he  did.  She  was  squat 
ted  on  her  heels,  steadying  one  elbow  on  her  knee. 
The  double-jack  struck  her  hand,  glanced  and  landed 
another  blow  on  her  knee;  one  of  those  terribly  pain 
ful  blows  that  take  your  breath  and  make  you  see 
stars  without  crippling  you  permanently. 

Casey  doesn't  like  to  talk  about  it,  but  once  he 
growled  that  he  did  about  every  damn- fool  thing 
he  could  with  a  double-jack,  except  brain  her.  The 
Little  Woman  gave  one  small  scream  and  went  over 
backward  in  a  faint,  and  Casey  was  just  about  ready 
to  go  off  and  shoot  himself. 

He  took  her  up  in  his  arms  and  carried  her  down 
to  the  cabin  before  she  came  to.  And  when  she 
did  come  to  her  senses,  Babe  immediately  made  mat 
ters  worse.  She  was  whimpering  beside  her  mother, 
and  when  she  saw  that  mamma  had  waked  up,  she 
shrilled  consolingly :  "  It's  going  to  be  all  well  in  a 
minute.  Casey  Ryan  kissed  it  des  like  that!  So 
now  it'll  get  all  well !  " 

If  the  Little  Woman  had  wanted  to  tell  Casey 
what  she  thought  of  him,  she  couldn't  just  then,  for 
Casey  was  halfway  to  his  own  camp  by  the  time  she 
glanced  around  the  room,  looking  for  him. 

Common  humanity  drove  him  back,  of  course. 


CASEY  RYAN  211 

He  couldn't  let  a  woman  and  a  child  starve  to  death 
just  because  he  was  a  damned  idiot  and  had  half- 
killed  the  woman.  But  if  there  had  been  another 
person  within  calling  distance,  the  Little  Woman 
would  probably  never  have  seen  Casey  Ryan  again. 

Necessity  has  a  bland  way  of  ignoring  such  things 
as  conventions  and  the  human  emotions.  Casey 
cooked  supper  for  Babe  and  the  Little  Woman,  and 
washed  the  dishes,  and  wrung  out  cloths  from  hot 
vinegar  and  salt  so  that  the  Little  Woman  could 
bathe  her  knee  —  she  had  to  do  it  left-handed,  at  that 
—  and  unbuttoned  Babe's  clothes  and  helped  her  on 
with  her  pyjamas  and  let  her  kneel  on  his  lap  while 
she  said  her  prayers.  Because,  as  Babe  painstak 
ingly  explained,  she  always  kneeled  on  a  lap  so  ants 
couldn't  run  over  her  toes  and  tickle  her  and  make 
her  laugh,  which  would  make  God  think  she  was  a 
bad,  naughty  girl. 

Can  you  picture  Casey  Ryan  rocking  that  child 
to  sleep  ?  I  can't  —  yes,  I  cJan  too,  and  there's 
something  in  the  picture  that  holds  back  the  laugh 
you  think  will  come. 

Before  she  gave  her  final  wriggle  and  cheeped 
her  last  little  cheep,  Babe  had  to  be  carried  over  and 
held  down  where  she  could  kiss  mamma  good  night. 
Casey  got  rather  white  around  the  mouth,  then. 
But  he  didn't  say  a  word.  Indeed,  he  had  said 
mighty  little  since  that  fourth  blow  of  the  double- 
jack;  just  enough  to  get  along  intelligently,  with 
what  he  had  to  do.  He  hadn't  even  told  the  Little 
Woman  he  was  sorry. 

So  Babe  was  asleep  and  tucked  in  her  bed,  and 


212  CASEY  RYAN 

Casey  turned  down  the  light  and  asked  perfunctorily 
if  there  was  anything  else  he  could  do,  and  had 
started  for  the  door.  And  then  — 

"  Casey  Ryan,"  called  the  Little  Woman,  with  the 
teasing  note  in  her  voice.  "  Casey  Ryan,  come  back 
here  and  listen  to  me.  You  are  not  going  off  like 
that  to  swear  at  yourself  all  night.  Sit  down  in  that 
chair  and  listen  to  me!  " 

Casey  sat  down,  swallowing  hard.  All  the  Casey 
Ryan  nonchalance  was  gone, —  never  had  been  with 
him,  in  fact,  while  he  faced  that  Little  Woman. 
Somehow  she  had  struck  him  humble  and  dumb 
from  the  very  beginning.  I  wish  I  knew  how  she 
did  it ;  I'd  like  to  try  it  sometime  myself. 

"  Casey  Ryan,  it's  hard  for  a  woman  to  own  her 
self  in  the  wrong,  especially  to  a  man,"  she  said, 
when  he  had  begun  to  squirm  and  wonder  what  bit 
ing  words  she  would  say.  "  I've  always  thought 
that  I  had  as  good  nerve  as  any  one.  I  have,  usu 
ally.  But  that  double- jack  scared  the  life  out  of 
me  after  the  first  blow,  and  I  thought  I  wouldn't 
let  on.  I  couldn't  admit  I  was  afraid.  I  was  ter 
ribly  ashamed.  I  knew  you'd  never  miss,  but  I 
was  scared,  just  the  same.  And  like  a  darn  fool 
I  pushed  the  drill  away  from  me  just  as  you  struck. 
It  was  coming  down  —  you  couldn't  change  it,  man 
alive.  You'd  aimed  true  at  the  drill,  and  —  the 
drill  wasn't  just  there  at  the  moment.  Serves  me 
right.  But  it's  tough  on  you,  old  boy  —  having  to 
do  the  cooking  for  three  of  us  while  I'm  laid 
up!" 

I'm  sure  I  can't  see  how  Casey  Ryan  ever  got  the 


CASEY  RYAN  213 

name  of  being  a  devil  with  the  ladies.  He  certainly 
behaved  like  a  yap  then,  if  you  get  my  meaning. 
He  gave  the  Little  Woman  a  quick,  unwinking  stare, 
looked  away  from  her  shamedly,  reached  for  his 
plug  of  tobacco,  took  away  his  hand,  swallowed 
twice,  shuffled  his  feet  and  then  grunted  —  I  can 
use  no  other  word  for  it : 

"  Aw,  I  guess  I  c'n  stand  it  if  you  can !" 

He  made  a  motion  then  to  rise  up  and  go  to  his 
own  camp  where  he  would  undoubtedly  think  of 
many  tender,  witty  things  that  he  would  like  to  have 
spoken  to  the  Little  Woman.  But  she  was  watch 
ing  him.  She  saw  him  move  and  stopped  him  with  a 
question. 

"  Casey  Ryan,  tell  me  the  truth  about  that  tunnel. 
Do  you  think  it's  ever  going  to  strike  the  ore  body 
at  all?" 

Start  Casey  off  on  the  subject  of  mining  and  you 
have  him  anchored  and  interested  for  an  hour,  at 
least.  The  Little  Woman  had  brains,  you  must  see 
that. 

"  Well,  I  don't  want  to  discourage  you,  ma'am," 
Casey  said  reluctantly,  the  truth  crowding  against 
his  teeth.  "  But  I'd  V  gone  in  under  that  iron 
capping,  if  I'd  been  doing  it.  The  outcropping  you 
followed  in  from  the  surface  never  has  been  in 
place,  ma'am.  It's  what  I'd  call  a  wild  stringer. 
It  pinched  out  forty  foot  back  of  where  we're  dig- 
gin'  now.  That's  just  an  iron  stain  we're  follow 
ing,  and  the  pocket  of  high  grade  don't  mean  nothin'. 
[You  went  in  on  the  strength  of  indications  — "  He 
stopped  there  and  chuckled  to  himself,  in  a  way  that 


214  CASEY  RYAN 

I'd  come  to  know  as  the  "  indications  "  of  a  story, — 
which  usually  followed. 

The  Little  Woman  probably  guessed.  I  suppose 
she  was  lonely,  too,  and  the  pain  of  her  hurts  made 
her  want  entertainment.  "  What  are  you  laughing 
at,  Casey  Ryan?"  she  demanded.  "If  it's  funny, 
tell  me." 

Casey  blushed,  though  she  couldn't  have  seen  him 
in  the  dusky  light  of  the  cabin.  "  Aw,  it  ain't  any 
thing  much,"  he  protested  bashfully.  "  I  just  hap 
pened  to  think  about  a  little  ol'  Frenchman  I  knowed 
once,  over  in  Cripple  Creek,  ma'am."  He  stopped. 

"  Well?  Tell  me  about  the  little  ol'  Frenchman. 
It  made  you  laugh,  Casey  Ryan,  and  it's  about  the 
first  time  I've  seen  you  do  that.  Tell  me." 

"  Well,  it  ain't  nothin'  very  funny  to  tell  about," 
Casey  hedged  like  a  bashful  boy ;  which  was  mighty 
queer  for  Casey  Ryan,  I  assure  you.  For  if  there 
was  anything  Casey  liked  better  than  a  funny  story, 
it  was  some  one  to  listen  while  he  told  it.  "  You 
won't  git  the  kick,  mebby.  It's  knowin'  the  French 
man  makes  it  seem  kinda  funny  when  I  think  about 
it.  He  was  a  good  little  man  and  he  kept  a  little 
hotel  and  was  an  awful  good  cook.  And  he  wanted 
a  gold  mine  worse  than  anybody  I  ever  seen.  He 
didn't  know  a  da  —  nothin'  at  all  about  minin' 
ma'am,  but  every  ol'  soak  of  a  prospector  could  git 
a  meal  off  him  by  tellin'  him  about  some  wildcat 
bonanza  or  other.  He'd  forgit  to  charge  'em,  he'd 
be  so  busy  listenin'. 

"  Well,  there  was  two  ol'  soaks  that  got  around 
him  to  grubstake  'em.  They  worked  it  all  one  year. 


CASEY  RYAN  215 

They'd  git  a  burro  load  of  grub  and  go  out  some- 
wheres  and  peck  around  till  it  was  all  et  up,  and  then 
they'd  come  back  an'  tell  Frenchy  some  wild  tale 
about  runnin'  acrost  what  looked  like  the  richest 
prospect  in  the  country.  They'd  go  on  about  hav- 
in'  all  the  indications  of  a  big  body  uh  rich  ore. 
He'd  soak  it  in,  an'  they'd  hang  around  town  —  one 
had  a  sore  foot  one  time,  I  remember,  that  lasted 
'em  a  month  of  good  board  at  Frenchy 's  hotel  be 
fore  he  drove  'em  out  agin  to  his  mine,  as  he  called 
it 

"  They  worked  that  scheme  on  him  for  a  long 
time  —  and  it  was  the  only  da  —  scheme  they 
wasn't  too  lazy  to  work.  They'd  git  money  to  buy 
powder  an'  fuse  an'  caps,  ma'am,  an'  blow  it  on 
booze,  y'see.  An'  they'd  hang  in  town,  boardin'  off 
Frenchy,  jest  as  long  as  they  c'ld  think  of  an  excuse 
fer  stayin'. 

"  So  somebody  tipped  Frenchy  off  that  he  was 
bein'  worked  for  grub  an'  booze  money,  an'  Frenchy 
done  a  lot  uh  thinkin'.  Next  time  them  two  come 
in,  he  was  mighty  nice  to  'em.  An'  when  he  finally 
got  'em  pried  loose  an'  headed  out,  he  appeared  sud 
denly  and  says  he's  goin  along  to  take  a  look  at  his 
mine.  They  couldn't  do  nothin'  but  take  him,  uh 
course.  So  they  led  him  out  to  an  old  location  hole 
somebody  else  had  dug,  an'  they  showed  him  iron 
cappin'  an'  granite  contact  an'  so  on just  talk- 
in'  wild,  an'  every  few  minutes  comin'  in  with  the 
'  strong  indications  of  a  rich  ore  body.'  That  was 
their  trump  suit,  y'see,  ma'am. 

"  Frenchy  listened,  an'  his  eyes  commenced  to 


216  CASEY  RYAN 

snap,  but  he  never  said  nothin'  for  awhile.  Then 
all  at  once  he  pulled  one  uh  these  ol'-style  revolvers 
an'  points  it  at  'em,  an'  yells :  '  Indicaziones !  Indi- 
cazionesl  T'ell  weez  your  indicaziones!  Now  you 
show  me  zee  me-tall! ' "  Casey  stopped,  reached 
for  his  plug  and  remembered  that  he  mustn't.  The 
Little  Woman  laughed.  She  didn't  seem  to  need 
the  tapering  off  of  the  story,  as  most  women  de 
mand. 

"  And  so  you  think  I  have  plenty  of  indicaziones, 
but  mighty  little  chance  of  getting  the  mt-tall,"  she 
pointed  the  moral.  "  Well,  then  tell  me  what  to 
do/' 

It  was  in  the  telling,  I  think,  that  Casey  for  the 
first  time  forgot  to  be  shy  and  became  his  real, 
Casey  Ryan  best.  The  Little  Woman  saw  at  once, 
when  he  pointed  it  out  to  her,  that  she  ought  to  drift 
and  cut  under  the  iron  capping  instead  of  tunneling 
away  from  it  as  they  had  been  doing. 

But  she  was  not  altogether  engrossed  in  that  tun 
nel.  I  think  her  prospecting  into  the  soul  of  Casey 
Ryan  interested  her  much  more ;  and  being  a  woman 
she  followed  the  small  outcropping  of  his  Irish 
humor  and  opened  up  a  distinct  vein  of  it  before  the 
evening  was  over.  Just  to  convince  you,  she  led 
him  on  until  Casey  told  her  all  about  feeding  his 
Ford  syrup  instead  of  oil,  and  all  about  how  it  ran 
over  him  a  few  times  on  the  dry  lake,  — Casey  was 
secretly  made  happy  because  she  saw  at  once  how 
easily  that  could  happen,  and  never  once  doubted 
that  he  was  sober!  He  told  her  about  the  goats  in 
Patmos  and  made  her  laugh  so  hard  that  Babe  woke 


CASEY  RYAN  217 

and  whimpered  a  little,  and  insisted  that  Casey  take 
her  up  and  rock  her  again  in  the  old  homemade  chair 
with  crooked  juniper  branches  hewn  for  rockers. 

With  Babe  in  his  arms  he  told  her,  too,  about  his 
coming  out  to  hunt  the  Injun  Jim  mine.  He  must 
have  felt  pretty  well  acquainted,  by  then,  because 
he  regaled  her  with  a  painstaking,  Caseyish  descrip 
tion  of  Lucy  Lily  and  her  educated  wardrobe,  and 
—  because  she  was  a  murderous  kind  of  squaw  and 
entitled  to  no  particular  chivalry  —  even  repeated 
her  manner  of  proposing  to  a  white  man,  and  her 
avowed  reason  and  all.  That  was  going  pretty  far, 
I  think,  for  one  evening,  but  we  must  keep  in  mind 
the  fact  that  Casey  and  the  Little  Woman  had  met 
almost  a  month  before  this,  and  that  Casey  had 
merely  thrown  wide  open  the  little  door  to  his  real 
self. 

At  any  rate  it  was  after  ten  o'clock  by  Casey's 
Ingersoll  when  he  tucked  Babe  into  her  little  bed, 
brought  a  jelly  glass  of  cold  water  for  the  Little 
Woman  to  drink  in  the  night,  and  started  for  the 
door. 

There  he  stopped  for  a  minute,  debated  with  his 
shyness  and  turned  back. 

"  You  mebby  moved  that  steel  at  the  wrong  time," 
he  said  abruptly,  "  I  guess  you  musta,  the  way  it 
happened.  But  I  was  so  scared  I'd  hit  yuh,  my 
teeth  was  playin'  the  dance  to  La  Paloma.  I  was  in 
a  cold  sweat.  I  never  did  hit  a  man  with  a  double- 
jack  in  my  life,  and  I  guess  I've  put  down  ten  miles 
uh  holes,  nrx'am,  if  you  placed  'em  end  to  end.  I 
always  made  it  my  brag  I  never  scraped  a  knuckle  at 


218  CASEY  RYAN 

.that  game.  But  —  them  little  hands  of  yours  on  the 
drill  —  I  was  shakin'  all  over  for  fear  1  might  — 
hurt  yuh.  I  —  I  never  hated  anything  so  bad  in 
my  life  —  I'd  rather  kill  a  dozen  men  than  hurt 
you—" 

"Man  alive,"  the  Little  Woman  exclaimed  softly 
from  her  dusky  corner,  "  you'd  never  have  hurt  me 
in  the  world,  if  I'd  had  the  nerve  to  trust  you." 
And  she  added  softly,  "  I'll  trust  you,  from  now  on, 
Casey  Ryan.  Always/' 

I  think  Casey  was  an  awful  fool  to  walk  out  and 
never  let  her  know  that  he  heard  that  "  Always." 


CHAPTER  XXI 

"  Casey  Ryan,"  the  Little  Woman  began  with  her 
usual  abruptness  one  evening,  when  she  was  able 
to  walk  as  far  as  the  mine  and  back  without  feeling 
the  effect  of  the  exercise,  but  was  still  nursing  a 
bandaged  right  hand ;  "  Casey  Ryan,  tell  me  again 
just  what  old  Injun  Jim  looked  like." 

Casey  laughed  and  shifted  Babe  to  a  more  secure 
perch  on  his  shoulder,  and  drew  his  head  to  one  side 
in  an  effort  to  slacken  Babe's  terrific  pull  on  his 
hair.  "  Him  ?  Mean  an'  ornery  as  the  meanest 
thing  you  can  think  of.  Sour  as  a  dough  can  you've 
went  off  an'  left  for  a  coupla  weeks  in  July." 

"  Oh,  yes ;  very  explicit,  I  admit.  But  just  what 
did  he  look  like?  Height,  weight,  age  and  chief 
characteristics.  I  have,"  she  explained,  "  a  very 
good  reason  for  wanting  a  description  of  him." 

"  What  yuh  want  a  description  of  him  for?  He's 
good  an'  dead  now."  You  see,  Casey  had  reached 
the  point  of  intimacy  where  he  could  argue  with 
the  Little  Woman  quite  in  his  everyday  Irish  spirit 
of  contention. 

The  Little  Woman  had  spirit  of  her  own,  but  she 
was  surprisingly  meek  with  Casey  at  times.  "  It 
struck  me  quite  suddenly,  to-day,  that  I  may  know 
where  that  gold  mine  is;  or  about  where  it  is,"  she 
said,  with  a  hidden  excitement  in  her  voice.  "  I've 


220  CASEY  RYAN 

been  thinking  all  day  about  it,  and  putting  two  and 
two  together.  I  merely  need  a  fair  description  now 
of  Injun  Jim,  to  feel  tolerably  certain  that  I  do  or 
do  not  know  something  about  the  location  of  that 
mine." 

"  How'd  you  come  to  know  anything  about  it?  " 
Casey  stopped  to  move  Babe  to  his  other  shoulder. 
He  had  put  in  a  long  hard  day  in  the  tunnel,  and 
Babe  was  a  husky  youngster  for  four-and-a-half. 
Also  she  had  developed  a  burr-like  quality  toward 
Casey,  and  she  liked  so  well  to  be  carried  home  from 
the  mine  that  she  would  sit  flat  on  the  ground  and 
rock  her  small  body  and  weep  until  she  was  picked 
up  and  placed  on  Casey's  shoulder.  "  Set  still,  now, 
Babe,  or  Casey'll  have  to  put  yuh  down  an'  make 
yuh  walk  home.  Le'go  my  ear!  Yuh  want  Casey 
to  go  around  lop-sided,  with  only  one  ear?" 

"  Yes ! "  assented  Babe  eagerly,  kicking  Casey  in 
the  stomach.  "  Give  me  your  knife,  Casey  Wyan, 
so  I  can  cut  off  one  ear  an'  make  you  lop-sided !  " 

"  An'  you'd  do  it,  too !  "  Casey  exclaimed  admir 
ingly. 

"  Baby  Girl,  you  interrupted  mother  when  mother 
was  speaking  of  something  important.  You  make 
mother  very  sad." 

Babe's  mouth  puckered,  her  eyelids  puckered,  and 
she  give  a  small  wail.  "  Now  Baby's  sad !  You 
hurt  —  my  —  feelin's  when  you  speak  to  me  cross !  " 
She  shook  her  yellow  curls  into  her  eyes  and  wept 
against  them. 

There  was  no  hope  of  grown-ups  talking  about 
anything  so  foolish  as  a  gold  mine  when  Babe  was 


CASEY  RYAN  221 

in  that  mood.  So  Casey  cooked  supper,  washed 
the  dishes  and  helped  Babe  into  her  pyjamas;  then 
he  let  her  kneel  restively  in  his  lap  while  she  said 
her  prayers,  and  told  her  a  story  while  he  rocked  her 
to  sleep  —  it  was  a  funny,  Caseyish  story  about  a 
bear,  but  we  haven't  time  for  it  now  —  before  he  at 
tempted  to  ask  the  Little  Woman  again  what  she 
meant  by  her  mysterious  curiosity  concerning  Injun 
Jim.  Then,  when  he  had  his  pipe  going  and  the 
stove  filled  with  pinon  wood,  he  turned  to  her  with 
the  question  in  his  eyes. 

The  Little  Woman  laughed.  "  Now,  if  that  ter 
rible  child  will  kindly  consent  to  sleep  for  fifteen 
minutes,  I'll  tell  you  what  I  meant,"  she  said.  "  It 
had  slipped  my  mind  altogether,  and  it  was  only 
to-day,  when  Babe  was  scratching  out  a  snake's 
track  —  so  the  snake  couldn't  find  the  way  back 
home,  she  said  —  that  I  chanced  to  remember.  Just 
a  small  thing,  you  know,  that  may  or  may  not  mean 
something  very  large  and  important  —  like  a  gold 
mine,  for  instance." 

"  I  don't  have  to  go  to  work  'til  sunup,"  Casey 
hinted  broadly,  "  and  I've  set  up  many  a  night  when 
I  wasn't  havin'  half  as  much  fun  as  I  git  listenin'  to 
you  talk." 

Again  the  Little  Woman  laughed.  I  think  she 
had  been  rambling  along  just  to  bait  Casey  into 
something  like  that." 

"  Very  well,  then,  I'll  come  to  the  point.  Though 
it  is  such  a  luxury  to  talk,  sometimes!  For  a 
woman,  that  is. 

"  Three  years  ago  we  had  two  burros  to  pack 


222  CASEY  RYAN 

water  from  your  gulch,  where  there  were  too  many 
snakes,  to  this  gulch  where  there  never  seemed  to 
be  so  many.  We  hadn't  developed  this  spring  then. 
One  night  something  or  other  frightened  the  burros 
and  they  disappeared,  and  I  started  out  to  find  them, 
leaving  Babe  of  course  with  her  father  at  the  tunnel. 

"  I  trailed  those  burros  along  the  mountain  for 
about  four  miles,  I  should  think.  And  by  that  time 
I  was  wishing  I  had  taken  a  canteen  with  me,  though 
when  I  started  out  from  camp  I  hated  the  thought  of 
being  burdened  with  the  weight  of  it.  I  thought 
I  could  find  water  in  some  of  the  gulches,  however, 
so  I  climbed  a  certain  ridge  and  sat  down  to  rest 
and  examine  the  canyon  beneath  with  that  old  tele 
scope  Babe  plays  with.  It  has  been  dropped  so 
many  times  it's  worthless  now,  but  three  years  ago 
you  could  see  a  lizard  run  across  a  rock  a  mile  away. 
Don't  you  believe  that  ? "  she  stopped  to  demand 
sternly. 

"  Say !  You  couldn't  tell  me  nothin'  I  wouldn't 
believe ! "  Casey  retorted,  fussing  with  his  pipe  to 
hide  the  grin  on  his  face. 

"  This  is  the  truth,  as  it  happens.  I  merely  speak 
of  the  lizard  to  convince  you  that  a  man's  features 
would  show  very  distinctly  in  the  telescope.  And 
please  observe,  Casey  Ryan,  that  I  am  very  serious 
at  the  moment.  This  may  be  important  to  you, 
remember. 

"  I  was  sitting  among  a  heap  of  boulders  that 
capped  the  ridge,  and  it  happened  that  I  was  pretty 
well  concealed  from  view  because  I  was  keeping  in 
the  shade  of  a  huge  rock  and  had  crouched  down  so 


CASEY  RYAN  223 

that  I  could  steady  the  telescope  across  a  flat  rock 
in  front  of  me.  So  I  was  not  discovered  by  a  man 
down  in  the  canyon  whom  I  picked  up  with  the  tele 
scope  while  I  was  searching  the  canyon  side  for  a 
spring. 

"  The  man  was  suddenly  revealed  to  me  as  he 
parted  the  branches  of  a  large  greasewood  and 
peered  out.  I  think  it  was  the  stealthiness  of  his 
manner  that  impressed  me  most.  He  looked  up  and 
down  and  across,  but  he  did  not  see  me.  After  a 
short  wait,  while  he  seemed  to  be  listening,  he  crept 
out  from  behind  the  bush,  turned  and  lifted  forward 
a  bag  which  hadn't  much  in  it,  yet  appeared  quite 
heavy.  He  went  down  into  the  canyon,  picking  his 
way  carefully  and  stepping  on  rocks,  mostly.  But 
in  one  place  where  he  must  cross  a  wash  of  deep 
sand,  he  went  backward  and  with  a  dead  branch  he 
had  picked  up  among  the  rocks  he  scratched  out 
each  track  as  he  made  it.  Babe  reminded  me  of 
that  to-day  when  she  scratched  out  the  snake's  track 
in  the  sand  up  by  the  mine." 

Casey  was  leaning  toward  her,  listening  avidly, 
his  pipe  going  cold  in  his  hand.  "  Was  he — ?  " 

"  He  was  an  Indian,  and  very  old,  and  he  walked 
with  that  bent,  tottery  walk  of  old  age.  He  had  one 
eye  and — " 

"  Injun  Jim,  that  was  —  couldn't  be  anybody 
else !  "  Casey  knocked  his  pipe  against  the  front  of 
the  little  cookstove,  emptying  the  half-burned 
tobacco  into  the  hearth.  The  Little  Woman  prob 
ably  wondered  why  he  seemed  so  unexcited,  but 
she  did  not  know  all  of  Casey's  traits.  He  put 


224  CASEY  RYAN 

away  his  pipe  and  almost  immediately  reached  for 
his  plug  of  tobacco,  taking  a  chew  without  remem 
bering  where  he  was.  "If  you  feel  able  to  ride,"  he 
said,  "  I'll  ketch  up  the  mule  in  the  morning,  and 
we'll  go  over  there." 

"  So  your  heart  is  really  set  on  finding  it,  after 
all.  I've  been  wondering  about  that.  You  haven't 
seemed  to  be  thinking  much  about  it,  lately." 

"  A  feller  can  prospect,"  Casey  declared,  "  when 
he  can't  do  nothin'  else."  And  he  added  rather  con 
vincingly,  "  Good  jobs  is  scarce,  out  this  way.  I'd 
be  a  fool  to  pass  up  this  one,  when  I'd  have  the  hull 
winter  left  fer  prospectin'." 

"And  what  about  those  partners  of  yours?  " 

"  Oh,  them?  "  Casey  hesitated,  tempted  perhaps 
to  tell  the  truth.  "  Oh,  they've  quit  on  me.  They 
quit  right  away  after  I  went  to  work.  We  —  we 
had  a  kinda  fuss,  and  they've  went  back  to  town." 
He  stopped  and  added  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  "  We 
can  just  as  well  count  them  out,  fr'm  now  on  —  an' 
fergit  about  'em." 

"  Oh,"  said  the  Little  Woman,  and  smiled  to  her 
self.  "  Well,  if  you  are  anxious  about  that  patch 
of  brush  in  the  canyon,  we'll  go  and  see  what's  be 
hind  it.  To-morrow  is  Sunday,  anyway." 

"  I'd  a  made  up  the  time,  if  it  wasn't,"  Casey  as 
sured  her  with  dignity.  "  I've  been  waitin'  a  good 
many  years  for  a  look  at  that  Injun  Jim  gold." 

"  And  it's  just  possible  that  I  have  been  almost 
within  reach  of  it  for  the  past  four  years  and  didn't 
know  it!  Well,  I  always  have  believed  that  Fate 
weaves  our  destinies  for  us ;  and  a  curious  pattern  is 


CASEY  RYAN  225 

the  weaving,  sometimes!  I'll  go  with  you,  Casey 
Ryan,  and  I  hope,  for  your  sake,  that  Indian  Jim's 
mine  is  behind  that  clump  of  bushes.  And  I  hope," 
she  added,  with  a  little  laugh  whose  meaning  was  not 
clear  to  Casey,  "  I  hope  you  get  a  million  dollars  out 
of  it!  I  should  like  to  point  to  Casey  Ryan,  the 
mining  millionaire  and  say,  *  That  plutocratic  gen 
tleman  over  there  once  knocked  me  down  with  a 
hammer,  and  washed  my  dishes  for  two  weeks,  and 
really,  my  dears,  you  should  taste  his  sour-dough 
biscuits ! '  " 

Casey  went  away  to  his  camp  and  lay  awake  a 
long  time,  not  thinking  about  the  Injun  Jim  mine, 
if  you  please,  but  wondering  what  he  had  done  to 
make  the  Little  Woman  give  him  hell  about  his  bis 
cuits.  Good  Lord!  Did  she  still  blame  him  for 
hitting  her  with  that  double-jack  ?  —  when  he  knew 
and  she  knew  that  she  had  made  him  do  it !  —  and  if 
she  didn't  like  his  sour-dough  biscuits,  why  in  thun 
der  had  she  kept  telling  him  she  did  ? 

He  tucked  the  incident  away  in  the  back  of  his 
mind,  meaning  to  watch  her  and  find  out  just  what 
she  did  mean,  anyway.  Her  opinion  of  him  had 
become  vital  to  Casey;  more  vital  than  the  Injun  Jim 
mine,  even. 

He  saddled  the  buckskin  mule  next  morning  and 
after  breakfast  the  three  set  out,  with  a  lunch  and 
two  canteens  of  water.  The  Little  Woman  was  in 
a  very  good  humor  and  kept  Casey  "  jumpin'  side 
ways,"  as  he  afterwards  confessed  to  me,  wonder 
ing  just  what  she  meant  or  whether  she  meant  noth 
ing  at  all  by  her  remarks  concerning  his  future 


CASEY  RYAN 

7.LV.    iz:    :_—---      in:   .::        :e   would 

be  bad  forgotten  the 


they  canoe  to  it.    She 


mjt  BHBKtBBBf  CBtBCiy  ult~ 
.•--.:'    f.-.r    :,    — : 


•'    ".:_::-  fi:.  :r.  .:.:   MIX 
Casey  5  ••MHDBjge  of 

to  test  it, —  you  nerer 
BBS  m  the  BBOC  ot 


of 

afrari  to  stare  at  the 
eye  saw  a 

Babe's  fist.     It  lay  jiot 

rtmni^  of  BBBBESL  Bft  BBC  shade. 

e  saw  a  ycflow  ^eam  on  the 


"  t  a.  bad  czoyoa  to  prospect  in.     Yon 

I  take  a  look 


CASEY  RYAN  227 


In  five  mantes  or  less  IK  cave  back  to  her 
little  nugget  the  size  of  Babe's  taanb, 

If  ynh  vaut  to  sec  soaKoang  pretty,  COB 
np  where  I  got  this  here,**  he  tali  her.     "  IH 
ynh  what  drives  prospectors  crazy.     This  ain't  ao 
free  gold  country,  but  there's  a  pile  nh  gold  in  a  din 

and  mebby  ynh  didn't. 

way,  tnts  is  where  we  beaded  for. 

"  Wefl,  yoa  really  are  a  prospector,  after  at     I 
just  wondered."     The  Tittle  We 
in  the  least  emoarrassc 


Babe  by  the  hand,  and  they  went  ap  brvond  the 

Cunning-  —  that  was  the  mood  Nature 
been  m  wnen  she  planted  free  £••  in 
wiiakk  on  the  side  of  Two  Peak,  and  set  the 
in  the  month  of  the  draw,  and  piled  an  rron 
the  top  and  spread  barrea  monataaKsn 
In  tae  aitaat;  lajam  Jaa  kad  doi 
too.     He  had 
face  of  the  bank  of 

passed  k  by 


Hi 


to  Casey,  her  eyes  saoBBg.         -^^^7   .-    ^r 
end  of  yoor  xaaibow !    Aadyoafic: 

siyoa5**  got  your  pot  o; 


22S  CASEY  RYAN 

Ac  end  of  one,"  he  said.  "  But  they  s  another  one, 
now,  t  I  can  sec  plainer  than  this  one.  I  dtmno's 
IH  ener  git  to  where  that  one  points/* 

A.  mans  newer  satisfied,  scoffed  fhf  Little 
Woman,  tinning  the  pfcciuus  little  yeflow  fragments 
OTtTthoagbtfnDymberpalin.  "  I'should  dunk  tins 
ought  to  be  enough  for  you,  man  afive."* 

"Mebbyithad.     Bat  it  ain't."     He  looked  at  her. 
, — and  I  dunk  the  Little  Woman  waited 
held  her  breath  for  what  he  might  say  next. 


He  turned  away  without  another   glance   at  the 


*  You:"  n  the  kid  can  gopher  around  there  whilst 
I  go  step  off  the  fines  of  a  daim  an*  put  op  the  loca 
tion  notice,**  he  said,  and  left  her  standing  there  with 
the  gold  in  her  palm. 

That  night  it  was  the  Little  Woman  who  planned 
great  things  for  Casey,  and  it  was  Casey  who 
smoked  and  said  fittk  about  it  Bat  once  he  shook 
Ms  head  when  she  described  the  gilded  future  she 

Money  in  great  gobs  Ukc  that  ain*t  mnch  use  to 
••v"  he  demurred.  "  Once  I  blew  into  Land,  over 
here,  with  twenty-fire  thousand  dollars  in  my 
pockei  that  I  got  oota  sOw  ctiims  All  I  ever 
sawed  onta  that  <JMH!I  was  two  pairs  of  ff^HFi  No 
need  of  you  tnanr»  puns  on  my  l*^'"g  a 


It  ain't  in  me.  I  gness  Fm  nothin*  bat  a  roog^i-neck 
ili^idiiiu  an*  prospector,  dear  into  the  middle  of 
my  hones.  If  I  had  Ac  sense  of  a  rabbit  I  never'd 
gone  lirtBg*  through  fife  the  way  PTC  done.  I  d 


CASEY  RYAN  229 


to  somethai'  by  now.    As  it  is  I  ain't 
and  I  ain't  nobody — *" 
You're  Casey  Wyan!     Yoa  make  me  sad  when 


yoa  say  that!  ^i:»r  rr::tr'.ti  r.rt'..  _.:i_rr  n-tr 
n  ~Z-^.  L  i  r  i  m  .""-  1  ~  ~  .T-  i  j..  i.  T  r  z~n  z.  5  T-^.TTIT~-  ^r  n_r7"  r^  ~  r  i  ~~_^  ^  .  ~" 
on  the  'l"'"^  *  \  OO'TC  my  bes'  friend  and  jpwfvt 
got  a  lots  more  sense  than  ai'VBikd*' 

"*  And  your  rainbow,  Casey  Ryan  ?  "°  the  Little 
\V  oman  asked  aofUj.  b  What  aboot  das  other, 
new  ramoowr* 

"  Ifs  there,"  said  Casey  gtoomfly.  ~  If!  always 
be  there  —  jot  ower  the  ridge  ahead  oh  me.  In 

I.       ,J     T      --  *      „-.   .  .    -  .  -----      9  * 

DDL  X   -      .  ~   ^~  _  ^r      -    . 


*  m  go  catch  yoor  wainbom,  Casey  Wyan,     IH 
ran  fas'  as  I  can,  an*  F9  catch  it  for  you!" 
KW31  yah.  Babe?"    Casey  be*  Ms  head 


AeLhde  Woman  spoke  of  it  again, 


CHAPTER  XXII 

Oddly  enough,  it  was  Lucy  Lily  who  uncon 
sciously  brought  Casey  to  his  rainbow.  Lucy  Lily 
did  not  mean  to  do  Casey  any  favor,  I  can  assure 
you,  but  Fate  just  took  her  and  used  her  for  the 
moment,  and  Lucy  Lily  had  nothing  to  say  about  it. 

Don't  think  that  a  squaw  who  wants  to  live  like  a 
white  princess  will  forget  to  go  hunting  a  gold  mine 
whose  richness  she  had  seen, —  in  a  lard  bucket,  per 
haps.  Lucy  Lily  did  not  abandon  her  bait.  She 
used  it  again,  and  a  renegade  white  man  snapped 
at  it,  worse  luck.  So  they  went  hunting  through 
the  Tippipahs  for  the  mine  of  Injun  Jim.  What  ex 
cuses  the  squaw  made  for  not  being  able  to  lead 
the  man  directly  to  the  spot,  I  can't  say,  of  course; 
but  I  suppose  she  invented  plenty. 

She  did  one  clever  thing,  at  least.  In  their  wan 
derings  she  led  the  way  into  the  old  camp  of  Injun 
Jim.  There  had  been  no  storm  to  dim  the  tracks 
Casey  had  made,  and  Lucy  Lily,  Indian  that  she 
was,  knew  that  these  were  the  tracks  of  Casey  Ryan 
and  guessed  what  was  his  errand  there.  So  she  and 
her  white  man  trailed  him  across  the  valley  to  Two 
Peak. 

They  came  first  to  the  camp,  and  there  the  Little 
Woman  met  them,  and  by  some  canny  intuition 
knew  who  they  were  and  what  they  wanted, — 


CASEY  RYAN  231 

thanks  to  Casey's  garrulous  mood  when  he  told  her 
of  Lucy  Lily.  They  said  that  they  were  hunting 
horses,  and  presently  went  on  over  the  ridge;  not 
following  Casey's  plain  trail  to  the  tunnel,  but  rid 
ing  off  at  an  angle  so  that  they  could  come  into  the 
trail  once  they  were  hidden  from  the  house. 

Casey,  as  it  happened,  was  not  at  the  tunnel  at 
all,  but  over  at  the  gold  mine,  doing  the  location 
work.  Doing  it  in  the  side  hill  a  good  two  hun 
dred  feet  away  from  the  gold  streak,  too,  I  will  add. 

The  Little  Woman  watched  until  the  squaw  and 
her  man  were  out  of  sight,  and  then  she  took  a  small 
canteen  and  filled  it,  got  her  rifle,  pocketed  her  auto 
matic  revolver,  and  tied  Babe's  sunbonnet  firmly 
under  Babe's  double  chin.  She  could  not  take  the 
mule,  because  Casey  had  ridden  him,  so  she  walked, 
—  and  carried  Babe  most  of  the  way  on  her  back. 
She  kept  to  the  gulches  until  she  was  too  far  away 
to  be  seen  in  the  sage,  even  when  a  squaw  was 
squinting  sharp-eyed  after  her. 

She  came,  in  the  course  of  two  hours  or  so,  to  the 
lip  of  the  canyon,  and  who-whooed  to  Casey,  muck 
ing  out  after  a  shot  he  had  put  down  in  the  location 
hole.  Casey  looked  up,  waved  his  hand  and  then 
came  running.  No  whim  would  send  the  Little 
Woman  on  a  four-mile  walk  with  a  heavy  child  like 
Babe  to  carry,  and  Casey  was  as  white  as  he'll  ever 
get  when  he  met  her  halfway  to  the  bottom  of  the 
canyon. 

"  Take  Babe  and  let's  get  back  to  the  claim,"  she 
panted.  "  I  came  to  tell  you  that  squaw  is  on  your 
trail  with  a  white  man  in  tow,  and  it'll  be  a  case  of 


232  CASEY  RYAN 

claim- jumping  if  they  can  see  their  way  tolerably 
dear.  He's  a  mate  for  the  two  you  helped  me  haul 
oat  of  camp,  and  I  think,  Casey  Ryan,  the 
squaw  would  kill  you  in  a  mimrte  if  she  gets  the 
chance." 

Casey  did  rather  a  funny  thing,  considering  how 
scared  he  was  usually  of  the  Little  Woman.  -"  You 
pack  that  kid  all  the  way  over  here?  "  he  grunted, 
and  picked  up  the  Little  Woman  and  carried  her, 
and  left  Babe  to  walk.  Of  course  he  helped  Babe, 
holding  her  hand  over  the  roughest  spots,  but  it  was 
the  Little  Woman  whom  he  carried  the  rest  of  the 
way.  And  Babe,  if  yon  please,  was  quite  calm 
aboot  it  and  never  once  became  "  sad  "  so  that  she 
must  sit  down  and  cry. 

"AH  the  claim-jumpin'  they  11  do  won't  hurt  no 
body,"  Casey  observed  unexcitedly,  when  he  had  set 
the  Little  Woman  down  on  a  rock  beside  his  loca 
tion  "  cut "  in  the  canyon's  side.  "  She  likely 
picked  on  a  white  man  so's  he  could  locate  under  the 
Jaw,  but  this  claim's  located  a'ready.''  He  waved 
a  band  toward  the  monument,  a  few  rods  up  the  can 
yon.  "And  Casey  Ryan  ain't  spreadin'  no  rich 
gold  vein  wide  open  for  every  prowlin'  desert  rat  to 
pack  off  all  he  kin  stagger  under.  I'm  callin'  it  the 
DeviFs  Lantern.  You  c'n  call  a  mine  any  name  yuh 
darn  want  to.  And  if  it  wasn't  fer  the  Devil's  Lan 
tern,  I  wouldn't  be  here.  That  name  won't  mean 
nodrin'  to  'em.  Let  'em  come."  His  eyes  turned 
toward  the  hidden  richness  and  dwelt  there,  study 
ing  the  tracks,  big  and  little,  that  led  up  to  it,  and 
deriding  that  tracks  do  not  necessarily  mean  a  gold 


CASEY  RYAN  233 

mine,  and  that  it  would  be  better  to  leave  diem  as 
they  were  and  not  attempt  to  cover  them. 

"  You  just  say  if  s  yottr  claim,  H  they  come 
snoopin*  around  here.  I'm  supposed  to  be  woridn* 
for  yuh,"  he  said  abruptly,  giving  her  one  of  his 
quick,  steady  glances. 

"  They  can  go  and  read  the  location  notice,"  die 
Little  Woman  pointed  out  Casey  did  not  make 
any  reply  to  that,  but  picked  up  his  shovel  and  went 
to  work  again,  mocking  oat  the  dirt  and  broken 
rocks  which  the  dynamite  had  loosened  in  th?  cn<% 

"  She's  a  bird,  ain't  she?  "  he  grinned  orer  his 
shoulder,  his  mind  reverting  to  Lacy  I-fly.  **  Did 
she  have  on  her  war  paint?  n 

"  She  wffl  have,  when  she  sees  you/'  the  Little 
Woman  retorted,  watching  the  farther  rim  of  the 
canyon.  Then  she  remembered  Babe  and  called  to 
her.  That  yuuugster  was  always  prospecting 
around  on  her  own  initiative,  and  she  answered 
shriHy  now  from  up  the  canyon.  The  Little 
Woman  stood  up,  looking  that  way,  never  dreaming 
how  wishfully  Casey  was  watching  her, —  and  how 
reverently. 

"Baby  Girl,  you  most  nor  run  off  like  that! 
Mother  will  be  compelled  to  tie  a  rope  on  you." 

"  I  was  jes"  getting  —  Casey  Wyan's  — *bacax 
Poor  Casey  Wyan  forgot  —  his  "bacco!  He's  my 
frien'.  I  have  to  give  him  his  Tjacco/'  Babe  de 
fended  herself,  coming  down  from  die  location 
monument  in  small  jumps  and  scrambles.  Close  to 
her  importantly  heaving  chest  she  cmtched  a  small, 
red  tobacco  can  of  the  kind  which  smokers  care- 


234  CASEY  RYAN 

lessly  call  "  P.A."  "  Casey  Wyan  lost  it  up  in  the 
wocks,"  Babe  explained,  when  her  mother  met  her 
disapprovingly  and  caught  her  by  the  hand. 

"  Why,  Babe !  You've  been  naughty.  This 
must  be  Casey  Ryan's  location  notice.  It  must  be 
left  in  the  rocks,  Baby  Girl,  so  people  will  know 
that  Casey  Ryan  owns  this  claim." 

"  It's  his  'bacco ! "  Babe  insisted  stubbornly. 
"  Casey  Wyan  needs  his  'bacco." 

The  Little  Woman  knew  that  streak  of  stubborn 
ness  of  old.  There  was  just  one  way  to  deal  with 
it,  and  that  was  to  prove  to  Babe  that  she  was  mis 
taken.  So  she  opened  the  red  can  and  pulled  out 
a  folded  paper,  unfolded  the  paper  and  began  to 
read  it  aloud.  Not  that  Babe  would  understand  it 
all,  but  to  make  it  seem  very  convincing  and  im 
portant, —  and  I  think  partly  to  enjoy  for  herself 
the  sense  of  Casey's  potential  wealth. 

"  '  NOTICE  OF  LOCATION  —  QUARTZ/  "  she  read, 
and  glanced  over  the  paper  at  her  listening  small 
daughter.  "  '  To  Whom  it  May  Concern:  Please 
take  notice  that:  The  name  of  this  claim  is  the 
Devil's  Lantern  Quartz  Mining  Claim.  Said  Claim 
is  situated  in  the  —  Unsurueyed  —  Mining  District, 
County  of  Nye,  State  of  Nevada.  Located  this 
twenty-fifth  day  of  September,  ip  — .  This  discov 
ery  is  made  and  this  notice  is  posted  this  twenty-fifth 
day  of  September,  ip  — . 

2.  That  the  undersigned  locators  are  citizens  of 
the  United  States  or  have  declared  their  intention  to 
become  such,  and  have  discovered  mineral-bearing 
rock—!" 


CASEY  RYAN  235 

"What's  mineral-bearing  wock,  mother?" 

"  That's  the  gold,  Baby  Girl.  ' —  in  place  there 
on  and  do  locate  and  claim  same  for  mining  pur 
poses. 

J.  That  t]ie  number  of  linear  feet  in  length 
along  the  course  of  the  vein  each  way  from  the  point 
of  discovery  whereon  we  have  erected  a  monument 
— '  That's  the  monument,  up  there,  and  Babe  must 
not  touch  it — '  ' — is  Easterly  950  feet;  Westerly 
550  feet;  tJmt  the  total  length  does  not  exceed  1500 
feet.  That  the  width  on  the  southerly  side  is  500 
feet;  that  the  width  on  the  northerly  side  is  joo 
feet;  that  the  end  lines  are  parallel;  that  the  general 
course  of  the  vein  or  lode  as  near  as  may  be  is  in  an 
Easterly  and  Westerly  direction;  that  the  bound 
aries  of  this  claim  may  be  readily  traced  and  are 
defined  as  follows,  to-wit: — /' 

She  skipped  a  lot  of  easterly  and  westerly  tech 
nique  in  Casey's  clear,  uncompromising  handwriting 
—  done  in  an  indelible  pencil  —  and  came  down  to 
the  last  paragraph: 

" '  That  all  the  dips,  variations,  spurs,  angles  and 
all  veins,  ledges,  or  deposits  within  the  lines  of  said 
claim,  together  with  all  water  and  timber  and  any 
other  rights  appurtenant,  allowed  by  the  law  of  this 
State  or  of  the  United  States  are  hereby  claimed. 

LOCATORS 
"  '  Jack  I.  Gleason, 
'Margaret  Sutten. ' 

"  Why  —  why-y  —  Good  Lord !  " 

"  Here  they  come,"  Casey  called  at  that  moment. 
"  Put  'er  back  in  the  monument  and  don't  let  on  like 


CASEY  RYAN 

at  affl.     It's  a 


He  was  »  ^ery  bn^r.  in  fact, 


CASEY  RYAN 


237 


l.ri         Ht 

1m 


*  Wd,"  said  Casey 
the  sic  of  ihe  cz*  9 

of  tou  from  a  oxfTaA  zaoe,     haiwe 


Lacy  Lihr  lodheiat  him  with 
ity  •UH-U  you  wiD  sec  xn  lie 


doad  of  dnst  in  tbe 


----- 


238  CASEY  RYAN 

rode  on  to  where  the  Little  Woman  sat  beside  her 
monument,  imperturbably  watching  their  approach. 
Had  those  two  only  known  it,  they  were  covered 
with  a  rifle  from  the  moment  they  turned  their  backs 
upon  Casey;  though  they  might  not  have  seen  him 
if  they  had  looked  his  way.  Casey  was  back  in  the 
cut,  resting  the  Little  Woman's  rifle  upon  the  broken 
trunk  of  a  sage  bush  at  the  rim.  His  finger  was 
crooked  on  the  trigger,  and  he  would  have  shot  the 
instant  either  of  them  made  a  hostile  move  toward 
the  Little  Woman. 

She  seemed  to  pay  no  attention  to  them  beyond 
answering  a  question  by  waving  one  hand  toward 
the  monument.  Lucy  Lily  climbed  heavily  off  her 
pony,  eyed  the  Little  Woman  curiously,  and  walked 
consciously  wide  of  her  as  she  went  to  read  the 
notice  in  the  little  red  can.  Lucy  Lily  seemed  dis 
tinctly  crestfallen  when  she  replaced  the  can. 

"It  is  the  Devil's  Lantern  Mine,  and  it's  hers," 
she  informed  her  scowling  companion.  "  And  a 
man  I  don't  know  his  name.  I  guess  we  have  made 
ourselves  a  hell  of  trouble  for  nothing.  You  come." 
She  remounted,  rather  clumsily  because  of  her 
weight,  and  led  the  way  back  down  the  canyon  with 
out  a  word  or  a  glance  toward  the  two  who  watched 
her  go.  You  can't  beat  an  Indian  for  sublime 
crudity  of  manner.  Without  warning  or  greeting 
they  come,  and  when  they  have  finished  the  errand 
which  brought  them,  they  go,  and  that  settles  it. 

The  Little  Woman  sat  for  a  long  while  beside 
the  monument,  her  chin  in  her  two  hands,  her  face 
turned  away  from  Casey.  Nothing,  I  believe,  wor- 


CASEY  RYAN  239 

ries  a  man  like  a  woman's  silence.  Casey  looked 
at  her  every  time  he  threw  a  shovel  of  dirt  over 
the  dump,  and  he  thought  of  her  while  he  picked  out 
the  broken  rock.  Was  she  mad  ?  Had  he  hurt  her 
feelings?  Did  she  think,  mebby,  that  he  had  his 
nerve,  naming  the  claim  the  Devil's  Lantern  without 
asking  her  ?  Or  did  she  think,  —  what  in  thunder 
did  she  think? 

Casey  made  up  his  mind  that  he  could  stand  it  as 
long  as  she  could.  And  immediately  he  began  to 
feel  himself  an  outcast,  a  pariah  in  her  sight,  a  per 
son  whom  she  utterly  despised,  just  as  she  de 
spised  Ole  and  Joe.  He  knew  why  he  had  done 
what  he  did,  and  he  knew  that  he  had  been  happy  in 
the  doing,  and  couldn't  have  done  anything  different 
if  he  had  tried.  Why,  hell !  Didn't  a  half-interest 
belong  to  Jack,  both  by  custom  and  agreement? 
The  man  who  grubstaked  always  got  half.  And 
didn't  the  Little  Woman  show  him  the  mine? 
Would  he  ever  have  come  over  to  this  particular 
spot  and  discovered  it,  hidden  as  it  was  ?  And  since 
she  did  show  it  to  him,  wasn't  it  hers  by  right? 
How  could  any  man  have  the  nerve  not  to  give  her  a 
half -interest?  Casey  drove  his  pick  viciously  into  a 
seam  in  the  rock,  when  he  reached  that  point  in  his 
argument,  and  then  swore  because  the  pick  broke. 

"  An'  I  wisht  you'd  show  me  how'n  hell  you  can 
make  more'n  two  halves  outa  anything!"  he  ex 
claimed  aloud  in  his  distraction. 

"  You  might  find  the  answer  to  that  at  the  end 
of  your  rainbow,"  the  Little  Woman's  voice  an 
swered  him  with  a  tender  kind  of  mockery.  And 


240  CASEY  RYAN 

there  she  was,  standing  within  three  feet  of  him, 
holding  Babe  by  the  hand  and  looking  at  him  with 
such  a  shine  in  her  gray  eyes ! 

"  Oh,  Casey  Ryan !  "  she  laughed  unsteadily,  "  I 
think  Lucy  Lily  went  directly  to  the  heart  of  the 
matter.  I  am  going  to  adopt  her  method."  She 
stopped  and  looked  full  at  Casey,  who  was  engaged 
at  that  moment  in  scrubbing  his  face  wildly  with 
his  blue  handkerchief. 

"  I  am  going  to  give  the  gold  to  my  husband  for 
a  wedding  present,"  said  the  Little  Woman. 

Casey  was  not  looking  at  her,  and  so  he  swal 
lowed  hard  over  that  bald  statement.  "I  —  I 
thought  —  I  didn't  know's  you  had  a-any — "  he 
floundered  and  stuck  there,  out  of  breath  and  out  of 
courage,  too. 

"  I  haven't  —  yet,"  said  the  Little  Woman  very 
quietly.  "Are  you  —  spoken  for,  Casey  Ryan?" 

Still,  Casey  swears  that  he  proposed.  He's  as 
proud  of  it  as  a  hen  with  young  ducks,  and  I  think 
he  would  whip  any  man  who  had  the  nerve  to  hint 
that  Casey  had  to  be  cornered  first. 

He  came  to  me  for  moral  support  at  the  wedding, 
so  I  helped  Casey  buy  the  ring,  helped  Casey  buy  a 
new  outfit  of  clothes,  helped  him  choose  the  right 
tie,  by  Jove.  Casey  wanted  a  blue  one  with  wavy 
threads  of  rainbow  colors  squirming  all  over  it,  and 
I  saved  him  from  that,  I  remember.  I  remember, 
too,  that  Babe  had  one  of  her  "  sad  "  attacks  in  the 
middle  of  the  ceremony,  and  had  to  be  carried  out  to 
the  kitchen  by  the  preacher's  wife,  and  given  a 


CASEY  RYAN  241 

cookie.  I  thought  sure  Casey  would  need  something 
of  the  sort  himself  before  he  was  through.  I  wish 
you  could  have  seen  his  knees  buckle  when  the 
preacher  looked  him  in  the  eye  and  began  to  intone, 
"  Do  you  take  this  woman  to  be  your  lawful  wedded 
wife—?" 

Oh,  say!  Casey  will  murder  me,  if  he  ever  reads 
this  (but  then,  Casey  never  reads  stories;  that's  why 
I've  told  so  much  of  the  truth  about  him).  Well, 
believe  it  or  not,  when  the  preacher  finished  that  do- 
you-take  question,  and  paused  with  that  solemn  air 
after  "So  long  as  you  both  shall  live?"  Casey 
was  so  up  in  the  air  that  he  threw  back  his  shoulders, 
tilted  his  head  sidewise  belligerently  and  barked, 
"  You  ask  anybody  if  I  will  or  not!  " 

If  you  don't  believe  that,  you  just  ask  the  Little 
Woman,  or  the  preacher.  No  one  else  heard  him, 
fortunately,  the  preacher's  wife  being  in  the  kitchen 
at  the  moment  with  Babe,  and  coming  back  only 
when  she  was  called  to  sign  her  name  as  a  witness. 
I'll  bet  the  preacher  told  her,  though. 

That's  about  all,  I  think,  unless  you  want  to  know 
just  how  the  Devil's  Lantern  mine  panned  out.  As 
a  matter  of  fact,  I  don't  know,  exactly.  You  see,  I 
made  over  my  half -interest  to  Casey  and  his  wife  as 
a  wedding  present,  and  Casey,  confiding  to  me  his 
fear  that  the  mine  was  really  just  a  "  pocket "  that 
would  not  hold  up  under  any  extensive  working, 
sold  out  to  a  company  of  promoters  for  fifty  thou 
sand  dollars.  At  the  same  time  he  managed  to  work 
off  the  silver  claim  of  the  Little  Woman's  on  to  the 
same  outfit  for  something  like  five  thousand,  and 


242  CASEY  RYAN 

with  all  that  money  to  start  them  housekeeping  the 
Casey  Ryan  family  went  straight  to  the  American 
heaven,  California.  Los  Angeles,  to  be  explicit. 

I  had  a  letter  from  Casey  just  the  other  day,  in 
which  he  boasted  of  having  been  pinched  twice  for 
speeding  since  those  new  and  drastic  traffic  laws 
went  into  effect.  He's  driving  a  Six,  and  he  says 
it's  blue.  But  I  noticed  that  "  very  dark  "  was  writ 
ten  in  there,  in  fine  handwriting  not  at  all  like 
Casey's.  He's  tamed,  all  right;  he  must  be  if  he 
permits  his  wife  to  censor  his  letters  to  as  old  a 
friend  as  I  am. 


THE   END 


THE  RANCH  AT  THE  WOLVERINE 

A  ringing  tale  full  of  exhilarating  cowboy  atmosphere,  abundantly 
and  absorbingly  illustrating  the  outstanding  feature  of  that  alluring 
ranch  life  that  is  fast  vanishing. — Chicago  Tribune. 

JEAN  OF  THE  LAZY  A 

A  spirited  novel  of  ranch  life  in  which  the  fascinating 
heroine  poses  for  film  pictures  that  she  may  make  money 
necessary  to  prove  her  father  innocent  of  a  crime  for  which 
he  has  been  convicted. 

It  possesses  all  the  popular  ingredients — a  quick-action  plot,  color 
and  picturesqueness  aplenty,  and  an  unflagging  interest — to  be 
found  in  Bower's  earlier  successes. — Philadelphia  Public  Ledger. 

THE  PHANTOM  HERD 

Another  western  tale  in  which  the  Happy  Family  be 
come  real  "movie"  actors. 

There  has  been  so  much  truck  written  in  the  last  few  years  about 
motion  pictures,  that  it  is  a  positive  relief  to  find  a  book  by  an  author 
who  knows  exactly  what  to  talk  about  in  an  entertaining  manner 
with  a  knowledge  of  actual  conditions  as  they  exist. — Boston  Post. 

THE  HERITAGE  OF  THE  SIOUX 

A  Flying  U  story  in  which  the  Happy  Family  get 
mixed  up  in  a  robbery  faked  for  film  purposes. 

Altogether  a  rattling  story,  that  is  better  in  conception  and  ex 
pression  than  the  conventional  thriller  on  account  of  its  touches  of 
real  humanity  in  characterization. — Philadelphia  Public  Ledger. 

RIM  O'  THE  WORLD 

An  engrossing  tale  of  a  ranch-feud  between  "gun- 
fighters"  in  Idaho. 

LITTLE,  BROWN  &  CO.,  Publishers,  Boston,  Mass. 


NOVELS  BY  B.  M.  BOWER 


GOOD  INDIAN 

A  story  named  for  its  half-breed  hero,  who  dominates 
this  stirring  Western  romance. 

There  is  excitement  and  action  on  every  page  .  .  A  somewhat 
unusual  love  story  runs  through  the  book; — Boston  Transcript. 

THE  UPHILL  CLIMB 

How  a  cowboy  fought  the  hardest  of  all  battles — a 
fight  against  himself. 

Bower  knows  the  West  of  the  cowboys,  as  do  few  writers  to-day 
.  .  .  The  word  pictures  of  Western  life  are  realistic,  and  strongly 
suffused  with  local  color. — Philadelphia  North  American. 

LONESOME  LAND 

A  story  of  modern  Montana,  giving  a  wholly  different 
phase  of  life  among  the  ranches. 

Montana  described  as  it  really  is,  is  the  "lonesome  land"  of  this 
new  Bower  story.  A  prairie  fire  and  the  death  of  the  worthless 
husband  are  especially  well  handled. — A.  L.  A.  Booklist. 

SKYRIDER 

A  cowboy  who  becomes  an  aviator  is  the  hero  of  this 
new  story  of  Western  ranch  life. 

An  engrossing  ranch  story  with  a  new  note  of  interest  woven  into 
its  breezy  texture. — Philadelphia  Public  Ledger. 

THE  THUNDER  BIRD 

Further  aeronautic  adventures  of  "Skyrider"  Johnnie 
Jewel. 

"A  good  story  with  numberless  thrills  and  a  humorous  quality 
throughout  its  pages." — New  Tork  Sun. 


LITTLE,  BROWN  &  CO.,  Publishers,  Boston,  Mass. 


NOVELS  BY  B.  M.  BOWER 


THE  LOOKOUT  MAN 

A  tale  of  action,  excitement  and  love,  full  of  the  charm 
of  the  great  outdoors,  in  which  the  story  of  the  life  at  a 
Forest  Reserve  Station  on  top  of  a  California  mountain  is 
vividly  portrayed. 

CABIN  FEVER 

How  Bud  Moore  and  his  wife,  Marie,  fared  through 
their  attack  of  "cabin  fever"  is  the  theme  of  this  B.  M. 
Bower  story. 

STARR,  OF  THE  DESERT 

A  story  of  mystery,  love  and  adventure,  which  has  a 
Mexican  revolt  as  its  main  theme. 

THE  FLYING  U'S  LAST  STAND 

What  happened  when  a  company  of  school  teachers  and 
farmers  encamped  on  the  grounds  of  the  Flying  U  Ranch. 

THE  QUIRT 

A  story  of  ranch  life  in  Idaho,  with  an  abundance  of 
action,  adventure  and  romance. 

COW-COUNTRY 

This  story  of  Bud  Birnie,  who  decided  to  stand  on  his 
own  feet  in  life  and  faced  trouble  so  staunchly  at  Little  Lost 
Ranch,  will  appeal  to  all  lovers  of  tales  of  the  real  west. 


LITTLE,  BROWN  &  CO.,  Publishers,  Boston,  Mass. 


UMI  t   UUt 

UCR  JAN 

1  3  19871 

JAN  1  3 

GAYLORD 

PR,NTEC,.U.SA 

iifSii 


